


wrapped in my arms (I'll keep you warm)

by Mauisse_Flowers



Series: the soul selects her own society [1]
Category: general fandoms
Genre: F/M, Families of Choice, Gen, Irish Gods, Irish Language, Magic, Magic-Users, Old Gods, Other Fandoms Not Mentioned in Tags, Witches, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-09-12 17:25:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 23,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9082258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mauisse_Flowers/pseuds/Mauisse_Flowers
Summary: A hundred prompts that take a look at Mauisse Flowers' life from birth to her pre-teens, with prompts through other view-points of various family and friends.





	1. Prompt List

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea I've been working on for the last couple months, which is set in a general-ish universe right now. All the magic talked about is my own take on it, and later the Harry Potter universe will be talked about more and in depth (with an expansion on the American magical government that isn't shallow and clearly made in the dark by a dumb person). As of right now, the entire Soul Series (what I'm calling it for short) is supposed to be around four sets of a hundred prompts. The Flash, Legends of Tomorrow, Arrow, and Supergirl are also supposed to become important parts of the series.

  1. **Blink**
  2. **Wedding**
  3. **Fantasy**
  4. **Lock and Key**
  5. **Heart**
  6. **Poison**
  7. **Fairy**
  8. **Panties**
  9. **Stitch**
  10. **Manga/Comic Strip**
  11. **Dragon**
  12. **Mario**
  13. **Edgar Allen Poe**
  14. **Mask**
  15. **Sword**
  16. **Web**
  17. **Vampire**
  18. **Zodiac**
  19. **Bones**
  20. **Phoenix**
  21. **Deviantart ⇒ Ballet**
  22. **Egyptian**
  23. **Anthro**
  24. **Cosplay**
  25. **Chains**
  26. **Action**
  27. **Chibi**
  28. **After A Battle**
  29. **Art Trade**
  30. **Original Character**
  31. **Realistic**
  32. **Moonlight**
  33. **Holiday**
  34. **One Shape**
  35. **Fruit**
  36. Midnight
  37. Elf
  38. Pageviews
  39. Henshin (Transformation)
  40. Fear
  41. Under Water
  42. Future
  43. Mascot
  44. Wings
  45. New Art Medium
  46. During A Battle
  47. Vortex
  48. Progress
  49. Upside Down
  50. Unseen
  51. Flag
  52. Princess
  53. Prince
  54. King
  55. Queen
  56. Sharp
  57. Fading
  58. No Color
  59. Censored
  60. East Meets West
  61. Hologram
  62. Tattoo
  63. Dirt
  64. Dinosaur
  65. What If....
  66. Portal
  67. Lace
  68. Envy
  69. Study
  70. End of the World
  71. Graffiti
  72. Silhouette
  73. Robot
  74. Tutorial
  75. Death
  76. Movie
  77. Bird
  78. Fun
  79. Teeth
  80. Jewelry
  81. Anniversary
  82. Fav TV Show
  83. Chaos
  84. Fashion
  85. Wood
  86. 86
  87. Circle
  88. Bunny
  89. Ice Cream
  90. Goth
  91. Scar
  92. Redesign
  93. Fast
  94. Stamp
  95. Sparkle
  96. X
  97. ID
  98. Buttons
  99. Space
  100. Rocket




	2. 1. Blink

The baby has good lungs, Clyde decides.

It's two weeks after Mauisse is born and she's finally taken off the oxygen that helped her live. He had to ship off in the morning but his mother, Bennie, would look after Mauisse and Dawn until he got back. Briefly, he thought of his stepchildren Joseph and Nicole then looked at his daughter.

Her head was covered in snowy fuzz, eyes screwed up shut, face a healthy red unlike the blue it had been Mauisse’s first week of life. Her hands were in tiny fists, feet wiggling in what Clyde guessed was kicking, her wailing was muffled by the glass wall, but like before Clyde bet she had good lungs.

Clyde would sign her up for soccer so she could keep them healthy.

Her crying pipes down suddenly, nose scrunching and mouth curving in a hiccup. Her eyes appear droopy and easily catch his. They're black from where Clyde stands and he bets they are, most baby’s eyes black for a while after birth.

She stares at him so long and with eyes so sleepy he thinks she’s died, and he his feet shift to alert a nurse. Then she blinks at him. Mauisse doesn't smile, too young to smile, but she blinks again.

Then Mauisse closes her eyes and sleeps.


	3. 2. Wedding

Bennie remarries almost a year after Mauisse is born. Clyde Sr. had loved Bennie and his grandchildren very much, often taking little Mauisse for a ride in his golf cart around the neighborhood the month she’d been home from the hospital and before he’d died from undetected prostate cancer. 

Dawn carries Mauisse into the courtyard, pale and sickly and clearly gaining weight, a withdrawn Clyde beside her. Joseph and Nicole are there, sitting to the side and very silent.

Quiet through her grandmother’s wedding, Mauisse dozes in her mother’s arms. Bennie notices, recalling how her great-grandmother Alannah said Bennie had been a quiet, docile baby, a sign of either magic or chaos to come.

As she concludes her vows and kisses Bill, Bennie hopes it's the former.

With time, she’ll have an answer.


	4. 2. Fantasy

Bennie is babysitting Mauisse when another presence joins them.

She had left her grandchild with her shiny pale hair and sweet hazel eyes on the couch, watching CatDog raptly, when the presence came. Bennie is around the corner in the kitchen, making soup for them.

Mauisse’s giggle accompanies the appearance with Bennie’s hurry back to the living room. Bennie can only see a shadowy outline, but she still knows who it is. Mauisse grins at the shadowy figure, babbling avidly.

“Gampa!”

Bennie stares, awestruck. Babies and toddlers who have the Sense are frightened of the Shadows made of people yet to pass on. To accept them and communicate means Mauisse had magic. It meant the Shadow Bennie saw had a face and spoke and moved, and only Alannah saw ghosts and demons and ghouls.

That meant Bennie’s fantasy of a witch granddaughter came true.


	5. 4. Lock & Key

Bennie has Mauisse for the weekend and straps the toddler into her car seat, helps Kennith into the van, and tells Bill he can either come along or stay but this was magic business. Bill comes and Bennie takes them to Georgia to see her mother whom Mauisse was named after. Mama Flowers is ecstatic to see her daughter and even happier to see her great-granddaughter.

“Mama,” Bennie greets, bouncing Mauisse on her hip. The toddler giggles and looks around the house happily, hazel eyes big. “I came to get Granny Alannah’s books.”

Mama Flowers is surprised then looks at Mauisse. A smile crackles the folds of her face, green eyes warm. “She does have magic then?”

“Yes,” Bennie smiles, bounces Mauisse some more to bring forth more of the toddler’s laughter. “She can see Clyde and talks to him.”

Mama Flowers grins, showing yellowed and uneven teeth. “Mother always said eventually the next Flowers would have it. You can't be one and not.” She turns to bustle into the kitchen. “Y'all sit on down and I'll make a pota tea.”

Bennie sits down, carefully moving Mauisse to sit on the couch. “Mama, what about…?”

“Those old books can wait a while. Mother never rushed her magic and neither will you, baby girl.” Mama Flowers sets about pulling out her kettle and tea bags. “Chamomile or Georgia’s finest?”

“Georgia’s finest, Mama.”

The Flowers Clan was known for making a damn good pot of sweet tea, something they'd learned through Alannah’s tea brewing. The witch hadn’t liked sweet tea, preferring her tea hot with cream or plain. But she had respected it enough to teach her descendants how to brew like a true witch.

As the water heats to a boil, Mama Flowers bustles back into the livingroom. She sits in her big, soft armchair, watching Mauisse wiggle off the couch to the floor. Mauisse toddles around, steps shaky but eyes bright with determination. Bill watches her the closest out of everyone, not fond of children but Mauisse hard to not like. Bill’s recent introduction to the fact magic was real was also a factor, worried the toddler would sneeze and turn them all into peacocks or flies.

“I’ll go get Mother’s books after dinner.” Mama Flowers says when the kettle cries, rising with a creak of old bones. “Have you brought the key for the lock?”

Bennie nods, pulling from under her thin, cream colored shirt a golden chain with a sparkling bronze key, big and heavy.

"I never take it off, Mama.”   


Mama Flowers smiles from the kitchen, squeezes the hot water from each tea bag with a spoon before dropping the bag in the sink. She pours the hot tea into a pitcher and and grabs her sugar canister. “Good girl.”


	6. 5. Heart

Bennie wasn't surprised when she realized that, as much as she loved Bill, her granddaughter had stolen her heart. For as long as she could remember, all Bennie had wanted was a little girl and that's what she got with Mauisse.

She loved Clyde and Kenneth but she'd wanted a little girl desperately. And when she got her little girl, her little Mauisse, she got a witch too. Like her Granny Alannah.

So of course she lost her heart to the little toddler picking up acorns in Mama Flowers’s front yard. And each acorn fell because her arms were too tiny, letting the acorns fall and take root in the soft soil.

Bennie would need to dig them out but she enjoyed watching them grow first. She enjoyed watching her little girl grow.


	7. 6. Poison

It takes a moment for Mama Flowers to see the pain to come in the little girl. Mama Flowers had never shown she had the Sense or magic, but she could feel a person’s future emotions. She'd learned to block it, never telling her mother what she sensed. Mama Flowers had never looked into the ability later on in life either, figuring it as magic residue.

It looks like a poison turning her little toddler’s skin black and blue with bruises. It cracked Mama Flowers’s heart and she made sure to make an extra special cup of milk, filled with chocolate syrup and love with a shake of cinnamon, at lunch time.

She watched Mauisse hold the sippy cup to her tiny chest, sucking the cool drink greedily. It was a hot summer, humidity leaving a sleepy stickiness on the eyelids only the evening coolness would alleviate. Mama Flowers watched as the bruises seemed to ease a fraction, catching her great-grandmother’s eyes giving a big grin full of crooked babyteeth.

“Gamy!”

Mama Flowers smiles at the little witch, knowing the poison wouldn't set in soon. She had time yet.


	8. 7. Fairy

On the eve of the Midsummer Festival, Mauisse finds herself out of Mama Flowers’s home. She is three, and she pads around the dark outside, curious of this new, strange world. There is fear of the unknown in her belly, but curiosity lights the way as she wanders towards the dark, looming trees. She sees little flickering lights, all of different colors and various small sizes. The largest is a bright pinkish yellow and is perched on a pink rose that lines the Flowers property from the deeper woods.

All the little lights notice her and begin to swarm Mauisse. She squeals at the ticklish pokes and prods to her body, the tugs of hair into tiny braids, how she's consumed by a rainbow glow. And then it ends as a sharp voice rings out, “Stop!”

All the lights zip away, some disappearing into the trees while most hang on the bushes and tree leaves and sit in the tall grass. The pinkish-yellow light floats up from the rose, coming close to the toddler’s face. A tiny face, pretty and young and pink, is in the glow. There's a body attached, slender and long for such a tiny woman. Mauisse stares a little harder, realizes it's a man with yellow-gold hair falling in perfectly disarrayed curls around his shoulders, eyes violet and striking.

“Pwetty!” She states, and the curious little man’s head tilts, a smile tugging his thin, pretty lips. “Wike, wike,” she tries to think of pretty men, finds it hard to imagine people who aren't Disney, so she declares proudly, “ _ Cind’ella _ .”

For a moment, he looks offended, then it softens at Mauisse’s proud grin. His accent sounds a lot like Westley’s from the  _ Princess Bride _ , and it enraptures her. “Well, you certainly aren't a  _ straight _ little mortal, are you?”

“Motal?”

He circles her, and Mauisse catches the brief sparkle of butterfly wings on his back. Mauisse wishes she could fly, but then again heights are scary and she decides she doesn't want to fly.

“Mortal.” He correctly gently, stopping in front of her. “You're very young, maybe three or four, perfect age to be a Changeling.” His violet eyes look over her, taking in her sparkling pale skin and ash hair and big, curious hazel eyes. She's in a pink Minnie Mouse shirt and overalls, feet barefoot. “Would you  _ like _ to be one?”

Instead of saying yes or no, Mauisse asks, “Was a cha-cha–”

Her little mouth puckers, and he fills in, “A Changeling?”

She nods emphatically, grinning widely. “Yes!”

“A Changeling is a human baby switched with a faerie baby at birth.” He explains. “It's what the human and faerie baby are both called. Would you like to come to the Faerie Realm? Your parents won't know you're gone, little witch.”

Mauisse puckers her lips again, contemplating his words. She wasn't sure she wanted to go, but she wasn't sure she wanted to pass it up.

“Can I come back?” She asks. “Granma is teaching me soups.”

“You can't come back.” He is honest with her, child too young to know the trickery of the Fae and too precious of magic to lie to. “If you became a Faerie Doctor you could.”

“Fairy doc?” She murmurs. “I heal fairies?”

He smiles. “In a sense. But if you decide not to come you can't be a Changeling, little witch.”

Mauisse  _ really _ wants to go she realizes. But she  _ really _ wants to stay. Mauisse decides it's better to be a Fairy Doctor than a Changeling, since she can come and go.

“Tha’s okai.” Mauisse sits. “I like home, I only wanna visit Fairy R-r,” she huffs, forces the strange word out, “relm.”

The man’s head tilts, he smiles at her sadly. “Very well, little witch.” He floats close to her face, making her blink at the brightness. “I am Prince Puck of the Faeries. Remember my face, for I have remembered yours for many years, Mauisse.”

Mauisse nods eagerly at him. “Okai!”

He floats backwards toward his rose, sitting. “Watch the faerie dances,” he cajoles. “If you fall asleep, I will take you home. No harm shall come to you.”

Trusting the itty bitty man, though wondering how he'd get her into bed if she fell asleep, Mauisse sits by the rose bush and watches the small people come out and dance on the cool summer winds. She watches and dozes and wakes up in her bed the next morning.

She recalls little people, a prince named Puck, and warm arms colored pink like a Florida coast sunset carrying her through a window. She vaguely remembers being tucked into bed and lips touching her brow, words in Gaelic that she hadn't learned yet.

Bennie and Mama Flowers never know about how the Faerie tried to take Mauisse, and it's better that way.


	9. 8. Panties

“Don't you want to pick some?” Dawn asks Mauisse as Nicole disappears among the racks to pick out underwear. “There are some Disney ones right here. Do you want some?”

Mauisse stares at the princess underwear, and the Minnie Mouse underwear. Then she notices ones with little pixies and fairies a little ways down.

She walks away from Dawn, who watches her daughter warily. Mauisse had laughed so hard she cried yesterday and the tabby cat they had turned white. It had terrified Dawn and surprised Clyde, and when she asked him about it Clyde stated witches ran in the family. Nicole was terrified and Joseph wanted to know more about his sister’s magic.

“I want these!” Mauisse declares, pointing at the fairy underwear.

Her mother stares at them before finding the right size for Mauisse and putting them in the cart with a sigh.


	10. 9. Stitch

Mauisse rips her skirt and bawls like a newborn baby. Bennie and Bill don’t know what happened to make her suddenly cry. Clyde picks her up, bouncing the sobbing child. Dawn stares, having seen the skirt rip and seen her daughter notice the tear before crying. She knew what had happened.

“Clyde, go change Mauisse’s clothes,” Dawn orders. “I need to see the skirt.”

Clyde gives her an odd look but does as commanded, carrying Mauisse away to be changed. Dawn rises slowly to go get her sewing box, not needing her sewing machine for a simple tear.

“Bennie, Bill, why not take Mauisse out to lunch?” she asks her in-laws. “She’s wanted Burger King for a little while now.”

“Dawn, what are you going to do?” Bennie asks.

“Stitching up the hole in the skirt.” Dawn shrugs, carefully selecting her thread. “Mauisse likes it so I’ll fix it for her.”

Dawn ushers Bennie and Bill out the door with Mauisse shortly after and takes the ripped skirt from Clyde. She sits down to fix it, measuring her stitches and forcing her shaky hand to still.


	11. 10. Manga

Mauisse always sits in a car seat when they go somewhere farther than the five minute drive to her grandparents, like them going to the library that Mauisse loves so much. She’s only four now and can read well enough to be sat in a bean bag, soaking up the picture books. Usually Joseph grabs a picture book too and sits near her so Nicole can study in peace and Dawn can find a mystery for herself.

Today, Joseph has a thicker picture book, the cover displaying a serious young boy with spiky black, blonde and red hair, Mauisse looks from her book about Wild Things to his frequently, careful to keep her eyes low.

“Do you want to read it?”

Mauisse jumps, eyes going back to her book quick, then she looks back at Joseph, unable to keep from glancing at the book. She nods a couple times, eyes big with curiosity.

“This is the only copy.” He states. “But if you sit with me, I’ll read it to you.”

Mauisse squeals like a little animal. She gets up, and Joseph shifts so she had space on his beanbag. Instead, she wiggles her way under his arms to sit in his lap, turning to give him a gap-toothed smile, her left front tooth missing from running into a doorknob the day before,

“Tank you, Jojo!” She tells him gleefully, and he rolls his eyes at the name. He flips back to the beginning, which is the back of the book. “This book is called a manga, it’s a comic from Japan. This one is called Yu-gi-oh.”

“Ooooh.” She looks at it with big eyes. “Cool!”

“There’s probably some bad words, like the kind Dad uses on occasion. But we’ll skip those. Okay?”

Mauisse nods with a heavy, “Hmp!”

“Good.”

Jojo begins to read.


	12. 11. Dragon

Mauisse tumbles down the hill, squealing loudly. She rolls into a patch of flowers, pink and yellow and pretty, before stopping. Jojo and Nicole are at the top, watching uneasily how close their little sister had come to the woods.

They were at a park in Jacksonville, the two older siblings brought along for back-to-school shopping. The two may not have been Bennie’s own blood, but she tried to treat them as if they were. That meant taking them back-to-school shopping even though Mauisse was only four. Mauisse simply got to come along and watch the clothes picking happen.

That also meant they went to a park for lunch and got to play. Mauisse, of course, tended to want to run instead of play on the monkeybars or big toy ship after eating. It kept her thin and less mouseish than they liked.

“Jojo! Nic!” Mauisse stood, shaking off grass and trampled flowers. She grins at them, waving her chubby arms. “C’mon!”

“Mauisse!” Nic calls. “Come back! Bennie said not to go near the woods!”

Mauisse pouts, little mouth puckered and looking very obstinate. “Gama din say that!”

“She did!” Jojo assures.

Mauisse crosses her arms, glaring at them. It makes the nine-year-old and fourteen-year-old sigh. Then Mauisse begins to trudge up a hill.

A hot wind blows as she’s halfway up the hill. It’s strong enough to through the older siblings flat onto their backsides and make Mauisse tumble against the side of the hill. She slides back down it, now scared instead of upset.

She looks behind her with scared eyes and sees a giant, scaly lizard lumber from the trees.

“ _W_ _ho dares disturb my rest?_ ” A dark voice slithers over Mauisse’s ears and quickly Jojo is up, sliding down the hill to grab his sister and hide her behind him as Nic cowers. Brilliant gold eyes with black diamond pupils center on Jojo and Mauisse. “ _Y_ _ou little children disturb me, just like the witches to build this place. If you are here that means you too are witches, and will kill me. I must kill you first._ ”

Jojo freezes in fear, Mauisse clinging to him and now crying. Nic is roused by the threat to her siblings, and yells.

“Hey, ugly! Leave ‘em alone!” The dragon looks to her, big, leathery, brown-grey wings spreading threateningly. “They weren’t messin’ with you!”

“ _I a_ _ssume it was you then, witchling?_ ”

“We aren’t witches.” Nic snarls. “We’re normal kids supposed to be having fun. And you’re ruining it with your bad attitude.”

The dragon eyes Nic, then looks at Jojo and Mauisse. He sniffs. “ _The young one behind the boy is pure channeled magic, the book smells of earth. One of you is a witch, the other Gifted._ ” He looks at the trio. “ _I will spare you, but never come back. I will return to my rest._ ”

Jojo hauls Mauisse up the hill as soon as the dragon had disappeared back into the trees. Mauisse began to bawl, clutching at her brother like she was about to be dragged away from him.

When Bennie finds them she hugs them all close, and promises they won’t come back to the witch park anytime soon.


	13. 12. Mario

Mauisse sits in front of the bulky television, controller in hand. Mancha, their chihuahua, is curled alongside her. In her lap is Mancha’s youngest and weakest, Spot. He’s sleeping and when he wakes up Mancha will run off with him to feed him with the rest of her litter. Mancha and Mauisse had what Dawn called shared custody of the puppy, and Mauisse was proud to call Spot, so tiny and brave, her son.

But right now she was playing Mario Party and so she didn’t think much of the warm puppy folded up in Mauisse’s baby blanket. She did when he woke and started to whine and so she carried him to the cage for Mancha to feed them. Mancha trailed after, sniffing and whining and worrying.

Mauisse sat by the cage and watched Mancha nudge the small dogs closer to her teets, paying less attention to Spot so Mauisse reached in to nudge him toward a teet.

“Mancha, don’t make me bottle feed him and have full custody."

The chihuahua glares at her and Mauisse simply stares back. Mancha seems to roll her eyes and the child grins proudly.


	14. 13. Edgar Allen Poe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly maybe my second favorite chapter to have written so far for this entire thing.

The family went to visit her great-aunt Dinah who lived in Central City. Mauisse is six now and it's Winter Break back in Florida, meaning it's cold and snowing in Central City. That means Mauisse is bundled up so much she sweats despite claiming she's fine in a jacket and sweater and scarf. That also means she's allowed to use the warmth spell Granma Bennie had taught her a few weeks previous.

Mauisse is ordered to stay at Dawn’s side at all time unless otherwise stated. So a third of the time Mauisse gets to ride on Clyde’s shoulders and the other third is spent trailing her siblings with her nose in a book filled with Edgar Allen Poe’s more famous poems and simplified versions of his popular stories.

Mauisse finds herself fond of “Annabel Lee”, probably because Dawn had almost named her after the poem, and of the _Cask of Amontillado_. She frequently quotes the poem, making Dawn smile and her sister frown at her.

Their third day in Central City, Dawn takes her children out to do some holiday shopping. Mauisse already knew Santa didn't exist, but never said anything so her parents felt accomplished. With holiday shopping, Dawn would send the three off together with instructions to stick together. Jojo would follow protocol accordingly, while Nic would be more eager to run off.

Over the past couple weeks, Nic’s treatment of her baby sister had gotten harsher, more abusive. But she was careful to never do it around Dawn or, god forbid, Clyde. Dawn would tell her to stop but Clyde would spank her and nitpick her housework even harder than he already did. Jojo didn't know better yet, thinking Nicole was teasing and that Mauisse was taking it too seriously when Nic snapped at her and poked her and was an overall bitch.

“Momma,” Mauisse looks at her mother with big, worried eyes. “Do I have to go with Nic?”

“Yes.” Dawn replied. “I need to go talk to Santa and you can't come with.”

Mauisse continued to stare and Dawn looks back at her husband looking through plaid children shirts. Then she returned her gaze to Mauisse. “If I buy you another mystery book, will you go with your siblings?”

“Can't I go in Books Billion?”

Mauisse meant Books-a-Million but she had trouble saying “million” after “books”. It wasn't a bad thing yet, though it was adorable. The issue mainly stemmed from speaking two other languages fluently already. Yes, Mauisse was six and was almost as fluent in Irish and German as she was her native language.

“Not unless Nicole and Joseph decide to go there too.”

Mauisse knew they wouldn't. Jojo would agree but Nic was the leader. Even if outvoted her word was law. Simple as that.

Mauisse clutched her book close with resignation. She wasn't getting a new book until Christmas and she wasn't going to have a good day.

“Okay, Momma.”

* * *

Mauisse was right about not having a good day. Nic picks and picks and picks at her, from how Mauisse always has her nose in her book to how she chose to dress (bright pink sweater and dark blue parka with black jeans and brown boots, bright pink scarf around her neck) right down to her hair and the necklace she wore (a Treble music note, the first of many necklaces she’d accumulate).

Jojo picked too, but more good-naturedly and he tickled her so she giggled and asked her to tell him what she read (because despite being nine, he didn't understand what his smart baby sister read). Mauisse knew he didn't mean harm like Nic did, which made her less angry at him, less scared.

That didn't mean Mauisse didn't hang back and become even quieter around them. She focused more on her book, less on the games Jojo wanted to get for Christmas and the books Nic wanted. She read and read. Then she stopped walking when the snow began to fall and wet the soft pages of her story, closing her book and reaching for Jojo.

But her hand touched empty air. Mauisse looked up, shocked to see a crowd of people but not Jojo or Nic.

“Jojo?” She says hesitantly, voice meek. “Nic?”

She does a full circle to see if they'd simply turned. Mauisse had read and trailed along her siblings thousands of times, so this time shouldn't have been any different.

Yet it was. Mauisse already knew with the feeling in her gut, the protective way the wind wrapped around her, and how the snow kissed her cheeks and hair. She frowns as a snowflake twirls around and lays on her chilly cheek, melting into a drop to slide a trail of ice until it fell, nestling into her scarf.

“Jojo!” She calls a little louder, tucking her book under an arm so she could cup her mouth with both hands. “Nic!”

Mauisse doesn't want to move from her spot, knowing she'd be easier to find if she stayed in one place. She also knows she should have bugged Granma Bennie to teach her that locator spell instead of the warmth spell. But shoulda, woulda, coulda…

Against better judgement, Mauisse moves. She turns left and right, looking for a familiar head of ruffled brown or a high ponytail, keeping an eye out for a yellow coat or green parka. There wasn't any of those, much to her dismay.

Mauisse sat on a bench and began to cry. People walked by, glancing at the crying little girl but none offering to help her.

“Do you know where your parents are?” A kind voice asks, distinctly male.

Mauisse hiccups, looking up at a tall man, skin dark and darker eyes lighted with the same warmth her dad had when he was being nice and fatherly. She rubs at her eyes and cheeks.

“No.” Mauisse shakes her head. “Momma and Daddy went Christmas shopping and I got separated from Jojo and Nic.”

“Jojo and Nic?”

“My brother and sister,” she sniffles. “Joseph and Nicole.”

“Ah.” He smiles. “I seem to share your brother's name. But I'm called Joe instead of Jojo.” He sits next to her, careful not to move too fast. “My name is Joe West and I work for the police. I'm a cop.”

“A cop lives on my road,” she sniffles. “He's nice and has a wife and a daughter and son. I played hide and seek and wet myself and didn't come out once, so one got called out to find me. I got a stuffed koala.”

Joe laughs lightly at her rambling. “Do you want to come with me to the station? I was on my way and you can call your parents.”

“I don't want Jojo to get in trouble because of me though…”

“He won't,” Joe promises. “C’mon. It's a short walk from here.”

Mauisse looks at him for a moment, stares at him really hard and waits for him to squirm. But he doesn't so she clutches her book and hops off the bench. “I wanna see your badge before I follow you.”

Joe laughs again, pulling it out. “You're pretty serious for being so young.”

“I am pretty and I am serious,” she agrees readily, taking the badge to look it over before handing it back. “It looks real.”

“It is,” Joe assures with a laugh, charmed by her attitude, then motions to the street. “Ladies first.”

Mauisse stares at him some more. “I don't know where I'm heading.”

“I'll make sure we get there. Don't worry.”

For a moment, Mauisse looks unsure. She'd lost her siblings because she hadn't paid attention. Would it happen again with Joe because she couldn't see him?

“Ca-can I hold you hand?” She's nervous, scared half to death, but he understands.

“Of course.”

Joe holds out his hand, big and warm and worn from holding a gun, and she takes it, feeling herself calm down.

* * *

The precinct is really warm. So warm Mauisse’s face turns red and she struggles out of her dark blue parka so she doesn't overheat. Joe helps, carrying it for her as he shows her around. She gets to meet several other officers, like Detective Singh and Detective Chyre. She likes them, even if Singh seems a bit uptight.

“This is my desk.”

It's small and cluttered but Mauisse finds she likes it. There's a photo on the desk of him with a little girl. He's pulling her into a hug, grinning at the camera. The girl has his eyes and smile.

“Who's that?” She points at the photo.

“My daughter, Iris.” Joe sounds amazingly proud.

“Huh.” Mauisse tilts her head. “She;s pretty.”

“She are,” Joe agrees. “I don’t see heroften.”

“Oh.” Mauisse wondered if it came with being a cop. Mauisse decided not to ask, thinking it was _too_ personal, and something even her naturally nosy self didn't need an answer to. She changes the subject. “I dunno either of my parents numbers. But I know my Granpa’s.”

“That should be fine. Does he know either of their numbers?”

“Yeah!” Mauisse nods. Before Joe can pick up his phone, Mauisse rattles off her grandfather’s number. He has to ask her to repeat it and she does so slowly, a sheepish tilt to her mouth and cheeks still red from the warmth of the precinct.

An elderly voice picks up, asking who it is. Joe introduces himself and, at Mauisse’s childlike insistence, hands the phone to her. She cradles it oddly, clearly having never used one before. Her voice is a little too loud but it lowers after being told she doesn't need to shout.

“Nic and Jojo and I were supposed to be looking around and I was reading instead of paying attention to where we were going and I got separated,” Mauisse explains. “And I don't know Momma’s number so I can't call her to come get me.” There's a moment of silence. “I don’t know Nic’s number, Granpa.” Another long silence. “Yah, Mr. Joe’s got lotsa paper and pens on his desk. I’mma give him the phone okay? Love you, Granpa. Tell Granma and Uncle Kenny I love ‘em too.”

She says something in another language, it sounds odd and he wonders if she'd made it up, before passing it back. He takes the phone, gets the number to Dawn’s phone, thanks him for his time, and sets about calling Dawn.

She answers quickly, voice panicked and Joe knows she's found her oldest two and is searching for Mauisse.

“Hello, I'm Detective Joe West with the–”

“ _Do you have my daughter?!_ ” Dawn yells over the phone and Mauisse cowers on her seat. He notices and covers the receiver.

“Hey, why not you go bug Singh for some candy? He keeps a lot for when school groups come through or we get kids like you.”

Mauisse looks unsure and Joe doesn't think of what saying “kids like you” will do to her. Most six-year-old’s don't have self-esteem issues so it doesn't cross his mind. Before it can, Mauisse is already off the seat and looking for the stoic cop, leaving Joe to a frantic mother.

“Mrs. Flowers, please. Lemme speak…”

* * *

“What’re you here for?” Mauisse stands, stares at the man with short dark hair and cold blue eyes that remind her of blue tourmaline. He's sitting on the other side of the bars, dressed in dark jeans and a dark blue sweater that's almost black, boots black and laced neatly.

His head rolls along his shoulder in a lazy manner to face her, eyes seeming to try and pin her. But she continues to chew on her lollipop (she hated waiting for the candy to melt so she could get the chocolate in the middle), staring straight back. Her book is under her arm still.

“Breaking and entering.” He smirks at her, a slight cheer to his voice. “What about you? Did you steal that candy?”

“Nope!” She gives a mighty crunch and she's pleased to feel the soft, gummy chocolate on her next bite. She pulls the lollipop from her mouth to eat the hard candy and save the chocolate. The sweet citrus tang now registers with her. “Mr. Singh gave it to me. I got separated from my siblings and Mr. Joe found me. But my Momma’ll get me soon. I'll be in trouble for reading too much.”

“Nothing wrong with reading too much. It makes you smart.” He replies. “What are you reading?”

“Right now it’s the _Gold Bug_.” Something in his face says he doesn't know it, so she sticks the candy back in her mouth to pull out her book. She opens it to the first page of the short story and flips it around. Slowly, he rises and walks over, kneeling to be level with her. Stick in the corner of her mouth, Mauisse states with a slight lisp, “It’s by Edgar Allen Poe.”

“I see that.” The criminal raises an eyebrow. “You're not much older than, what, six? Why are you reading such a grown up story?”

“I _a_ _m_ six,” she replies with sauce. “I've been reading since I could speak. My Granma taught me. And they're simplified versions.” Closing the book, the cover says as much about the stories under _The Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe_. “See?”

“Yes, I do. I think it's great you read so much.” He stands. “My name is Leonard. But you, little bookworm, can call me Lenny or Len.”

Mauisse tilts her head, looks adorably curious. “Okay, Lenny.” She grins big, it making her eyes crinkle at the corners, nearly closed. “I'm Mauisse!”

She sticks her hand through the bar, fingers spread wide. The book is back under her arm, the bulky item now forever something Leonard would associate with Mauisse, even if he never saw her again. The entire look would remind him of her, even after he'd forgotten her name and cherub face. There was an innocence in her smile he’d never forget, reminding him exactly of Lisa when they were children.

His hand engulfs hers when he takes it, shaking gently. For a brief moment he marvels at the already forming calluses on the pads of her fingers and palm and he wonders what she does besides read and get herself lost. He didn’t have those kind of calluses from taking apart the inside of alarms, didn’t have them from any of the shit his father put him through.

“Mauisse?”

Joe walks up, quickly stepping close. Mauisse looks up at him, grinning brightly. “Mr. Joe! Lenny is really cool!”

Leonard smirks at the cop, leaning on the bars. “I don’t think you should be looking at me as a rolemodel, kid.”

“I’m not,” Mauisse replies stoutly, lifting her chin. “You don’t think it’s weird I read a lot. **T** **á** **t** **ú** **fionnuar**.” She grins at both as they blink at her. Mauisse tilts her head, grin falling a little flat. “You don’t speak Irish?”

“No.” Joe states, and begins to lead Mauisse away. “Why not tell me about how you know it?”

Mauisse spins away from the hand placed carefully on her shoulder, walking back up to Leonard. He raises a brow, curious. “My Granma is teaching me Irish and German. And I know some Gaelic. ‘Coz I’m a witch, an’ the spell books ain’t in English.” Joe sighs, watching warily as Leonard soaked up the knowledge. Though Joe wouldn’t deny his curiosity too. “My double great-granma was a witch too.”

“That’s interesting.” Leonard drawls. “Any phrases I’d wanna know in Ireland or Germany?”

“Hmmmm,” she thinks. “Oh! The basics. Where’s the bathroom? Where’s the closest inn? Hello, goodbye, thank you, no, yes.” Mauisse hugs her book close. “I learned a bit of my German by reading Grimm Fairy Tales, and Granma only talks to me in German and Irish.”

“How do you say all those things?” Leonard prompts and Joe realizes he’s keeping her talking on purpose. He’s bored and she’s a curious kitten, but she’s too young to know it’s weird to be fluent in three languages so young so she talks openly.

Mauisse rattles off the answers, pausing for Leonard to repeat them. Joe decides to sit and watch them, making sure there’s no funny business on the criminal’s part. But he just listens to Mauisse ramble for the next ten minutes.

Then a woman, hair black and pulled into a ponytail, dressed in a dark coat and on the very heavyset side, makes her way into the precinct. Behind her is who must be her husband, hair military cut and white as snow, mustache more salt than pepper, and clearly as distressed. Behind them is a teenage girl with thick brown hair and a younger brunette boy.

“Mauisse!” Dawn says, and Mauisse spins on her heel to stare at her parents. For a moment, she looks terrified, eyes settled on her _sister_ , then she looks at her brother and calms down before acknowledging her mother.

“Momma!” Mauisse runs around the desk, straight for her mother who is ready for the tiny child to crash against her legs, hugging her middle. The book dropped to the ground. “I’m sorry I got lost! I was reading ‘n’ then Nic wasn’t there ‘n’ _I’m sorry_!”

Clyde picks her and the book up, holding her like a toddler. His pale brows are crinkled, anger in his pale eyes that makes the child nervous, his glasses glinting the lights of the precinct. “How many times have I told you to not read when we’re in a crowd? I do not care how much you want to know what happens next. You’re safety is more important.”

“A lot, Daddy.” Mauisse murmurs, cowed by his silent rage. “I’m sorry.”

He sighs. “Tell that to Joseph and Nicole. And you’re grounded until Christmas. No reading.”

“But Granma-!”

“Whatever homework you’re grandmother gave can wait, too. No more witchy stuff until the holidays are over.”

“But the Yule traditions…” Mauisse softly pleads. “I was going to pray to the Horned God this year for safe passage to the new year.”

Clyde visibly fights rolling his eyes, giving her a pleading look. “Baby girl, he can wait another year for you to throw some mistletoe and evergreen around and burn some pecans.”

Mauisse scowls, arms crossed, and Joe and Leonard and the rest of the precinct wonder what the father said to get such a wrathful look from the peppy child.

“Put me down,” she commands.

Finding her petulance annoying, Clyde does set her down. He waves the book. “You get this back December 26th. No sooner.”

“Fine.” Mauisse sniffs.

“And you’re stuck with your mother the rest of the trip.”

A gleam enters her eyes, mischievous and knowing. Her tone doesn’t change even a fraction. “Fine.”

Dawn and Clyde thank Joe for finding their daughter, Dawn’s eyes still red with tears and a distinctly red mark on her cheek. Nic is unusually pale, a rage in her gaze when she looks at Mauisse. Jojo holds his sister’s hand, gentle with the upset child and talking quietly to her.

As they leave, Leonard calls, giving a two-finger salute to Mauisse, “ **Sl** **á** **n**!”

Mauisse turns, squealing at him, then she looks away as the door closes and Jojo gives her a startled look.

Despite not getting to celebrate her religion before Christmas, Mauisse figured she had a good Christmas anyway.


	15. 14. Mask

Mauisse is about to turn seven and she decides she wants to be Peter Pan for Halloween the following week. Dawn laughs then recommends making a Tinkerbell dress instead.

“It's cuter and she's a girl, just like you.” Dawn reasons, and Mauisse makes a face.

“Just ‘cos she's a girl doesn't mean I gotta be her. I wanna be Peter Pan, Mom,” Mauisse says. “Don't matter he's a boy.”

“Alright…”

Dawn had been unsure, so when she bought the hunter green cotton and felt, she'd bought a bit extra and a bag of white cotton balls. She made felt slippers with cotton balls in the chance her youngest daughter changed her mind. But with the stubborn set of her jaw when Dawn recommended Tinkerbell instead, Dawn knew it was now as much a vendetta against her mother as it was her want to be leader of the Lost Boys’ for Halloween.

Then, to be even worse, Clyde decided to be Mauisse’s Tinkerbell. The little girl had laughed and squeal, pleased by her father's choice. Luckily Clyde simply went and bought a green shirt, green skirt, cheap Wal-Mart shoes and a blonde wig and had Dawn mend and snip the clothes to his liking.

On Halloween, Mauisse wiggled into her tights and pulled on the thin tunic, slipping her feet into pointy shoes. Then she stood in front of the mirror as she placed on her hat. She stares for a little while before looking at her father, dressed as Tinkerbell, and saying, “We need glitter. You're a fairy and I was raised by them.”

Mauisse knew fairies didn’t have glitter on them, she had met actual fairies, but her family wouldn't ever know. But the fictional Tinkerbell did have glitter so they needed glitter. Mauisse also knew the forbidden saying wouldn't kill a fairy, either, but it still made her extremely worried for fairies. Because they certainly did exist.

Clyde was one step ahead and held up the bottle of body glitter he'd bought when at Wal-Mart. He makes her stand in the shower with arms held up a little and tells her to spin as he shakes it above her head. Soon she's covered and so is the floor. Clyde takes off his wings and climbs in, shaking the bottle across his arms and over his head.

The man knows that glitter is the “herpes of the glitter world” and when he goes back to the diner tomorrow he knows he'll still be as glittery then as he is tonight. But to see Mauisse smile he’ll endure it. Besides, he's secure in his sexuality. It's why he's Tinkerbell and not John or Toothless.

This is the one day of the year Mauisse gets to run around maskless, using her simple spells to make other children “oooh” and “aaah.” It's the one day he doesn't worry about her being killed by the town for being a true, honest to God witch.

Mauisse laughs, spinning so glitter flies off her and floats around. Her hair and cheeks sparkle and so do her bright hazel eyes. She stops, steps unsteady for a moment as the world spins around her, then she grins at him.

“I'm ready to go trick-or-treat, Tink!”

Clyde lifts the bell he had and shakes it, making Mauisse giggle.


	16. 15. Sword

“Morning, Ga~ma, Gampa.”

Mauisse yawns as she rolls off the bed and onto the floor. Her grandmother laughs as Mauisse curls around the pillow she'd taken with as Bill hauls himself from bed with a sigh.

Mauisse slept with her grandparents when she visited usually, stating the living room was too lonely. Lately she'd begun to migrate to the couch at night though. The previous night was not one of those nights. Tonight she might, seeing as it was officially Samhain.

The modern Halloween was over and now Mauisse would go to Georgia and celebrate her holiday, baking bread and cooking pig and pheasant, roast hickory nuts and bake pumpkin seeds (she didn't like them, but everyone else did). Then they'd set up the family altar at sunset, make a bonfire, burn a third of all they'd made and set out another third for the night. They'd sing ancient hymns and dance with the long dead associated with the Flowers Clan. Mauisse would meet Alannah for the first time if she was lucky, it the first time Mauisse was allowed to join in the dances and festivities.

Mauisse was excited, to put it lightly.

The children of the Flowers Clan ate light breakfasts and lunches while the adults and more religious teens fasted that day, waiting to feast with past friends and family in the evening. So Mauisse had toast with butter and jam spread on it for breakfast, chugging a cup of milk and a cup of OJ with it. As she ate, talking to the schnauzer Jack and poodle Jill her grandparents owned, her grandparents filled a cooler with various cold foods, including a ham Clyde had bought at Mauisse’s begging.

(“Just this once, since you've not asked for anything too expensive this year.” Mauisse had squealed like a tiny animal and hugged her father’s middle.)

Neither of Mauisse’s parents observed the Wiccan festivities. Dawn was Baptist and her father was unaffiliated. He knew something was out there and didn't care to seek out what it was. Jojo helped and joined for Beltane, Litha, and Mabon on occasion, but kept out of the bigger celebrations like Samhain and Yule, knowing that he, as a Palladino with no Flowers blood, had no right there unless Mama Flowers invited him. Nic didn't care an iota for the holidays, frequently snorting at her baby sister’s excited babble over the upcoming celebrations.

In any matter, when the cooler was filled and Mauisse had eaten, the trio helped Uncle Kenneth into the van at a quarter to five and were on the way to Georgia. Mauisse, too excited to curl under her blanket and go back to bed in the very back seat, stays in her kidseat, watching the early dusk gradually lighten into morning over the next three hours. They stop in Jacksonville for a quick bathroom break and to fill up the van and then don't stop until they reach Mama Flowers’s house.

Like years before, the yard was covered in a canopy of tall oaks and maple and hickory, back of the property lined with rosebushes Mauisse sometimes saw fairies dart around, tiny heads peaking around a prickly leaf to stare at her with big eyes of wonder. The floor of soft dirt and sand was covered in maple leaves, the red, orange, yellow, brown, or mixed leaves crunching under foot.

Granma Bennie pulls the van up to the porch of Mama Flowers’s home to get Uncle Kenneth out the car and carry the cooler into the house faster. Once everything and one is unloaded, Granma Bennie drives the car down the road to the old park where the Clan leaves their cars for the evening.

Mauisse runs to meet her grandmother halfway, laughing and giggling as she goes. Granma Bennie scolds the child, who simply continues to smile.

“You are such a little troublemaker,” Granma Bennie teases her granddaughter, patting Mauisse’s soft hair.

“I know.” The witchling replies as they walk up the steps of the small, old home. Mama Flowers is waiting by the wide porch swing, holding a bouquet of yellow and pink roses from the bushes, clearly freshly cut. “But you love me anyway.”

Mauisse’s twenty-year-old cousin, May-Anna, was pulling up on her motorbike. Like most of the Flowers women, May-Anna had the Sense. Her green eyes were bright with the power, gap toothed grin wide. “Ah, if it ain’t Auntie Bennie, little Mauisse, and Mama Mauisse!”

Before Mauisse was born, everyone called Mama Flowers by Mama Mauisse. But before Alannah had died, she'd foretold there'd be another Mauisse in the family, so Mama Flowers’s name had changed. Mama Flowers hadn't minded, not really a fan of alliteration to begin with. Sometimes people would slip the old nickname in on accident, but it wasn't that big a deal. To put things in perspective, however, May-Anna had always called Mama Flowers by her original title.

“ **Maidin** , Anna!” Mauisse chirps as Mama Flowers gently bends, holding the wrapped flowers to her great-granddaughter.

“Can you take these in and place them around the altar?” She requests in careful Irish. “Alannah planted the bushes and would love to have some to take back to the Otherworld at midnight.”

Mauisse takes them, running inside. As she goes, she kicks off the pretty suede brown slippers Granma Bennie had picked out for the day. Mauisse hated shoes but tried to wear them outside for her grandmother’s peace of mind. By the end of the day, however, Granma Bennie knew Mauisse will have thrown her pink button up shirt somewhere and taken the silver filigree headband from her hair, running around barefoot like a real wild child in her skirt and tanktop.

May-Anna kicks the stand down on her bike as she cuts the engine, throwing a tanned leg over to the ground. Her barefoot is brown with dirt and green grassy streaks. Her freckled face turns upward as she takes a deep breath of the cool Georgia morning filled by the scent peaches and roses, long, golden blonde hair piled on her hair in a mess of curls to frame her face.

“So,” May-Anna uses French, Mauisse not yet learning the spells Alannah had gathered from France decades ago, “who’s giving the little kitten the Rite of Passage?” She walks over to the porch, looking at her nervous aunt and serene grandmother. “Every potential witch must go through it, even Mauisse as a true one.”

“It will be after all the men leave,” Mama Flowers says, moving to sit on the porch swing. Her brown dress with green and sunset orange flower embroidery billows as she does. “After all, this is for the women witches. Not the males.”

“Who’s giving the Rite of Passage, Mama Mauisse?” May-Anna asks again, voice slightly harder. “We know the ins and outs of it, but who is giving it?”

Mama Flowers is silent for a moment, then looks at her granddaughter calmly. “Mauisse will take the **Siúl Oíche** alone, May-Anna.”

“ _What?!_ ” May-Anna yells as Granma Bennie looks away. The woman comes up half the steps in fury, glaring heatedly. “Tha’s not how the Rite is done, Mama Mauisse! Every potential witch is to go with an Elder! I am goin’ with Mauisse ‘n’ you can’t stop me!”

A cold fury covers the matriarch’s visage. She stands, green eyes snapping. “Mauisse will go on the **Si** **ú** **l O** **í** **che** alone as is decided for every female of the family showing magic from birth to three years.” Her voice is cold with a ruler’s wrath. “You do not know the ‘ins and outs’ of the Rite, May-Anna, and you would do well to remember that.”

May-Anna turns to look at Granma Bennie. “You knew, didn'ya? The entire time, you knew, as our future matriarch, that Mauisse was takin’ the Rite alone.” She glares at her grandmother. “‘Cos only the future Mother knows the entirety of the Rite’s rules, apparently.”

“Doesn't mean I agree.” Granma Bennie says. “But Mauisse as a witch must learn where her magic comes from, and it's not from us guiding her. After the Rite, Mauisse will have to learn the rest of Granny Alannah’s spells on her own.”

May-Anna stares at Granma Bennie. “How’re ya actually her grandma?” She demands. May-Anna points at the woods beyond the rose bushes. “It doesn't matter whether Mauisse can see the Shadows or not. What she'll see may not make her fear her own shadow but it will make her fear the Otherworld and all it stands for to us. You are throwing her to the wolves, with not even an iron sword to defend herself!”

“Medb May-Anna Flowers!” The woman turns her glare on Mama Flowers. “You had best cool that temper before you celebrate Samhain at home, girl.”

May-Anna was hardly cowed, not scared of spending Samhain alone, but Mauisse chose that moment to come out. There was barely concealed worry in her young eyes, having heard the shouts that were muffled by the walls of the house.

“Granma? Is everything okay?”

For a moment, Granma Bennie looked prepared to say no. Then she shook her head, smiling kindly.

“Not a thing, my little one.” She lies easily, switching from French to Irish. “May-Anna thought she saw a spider on her, is all.”

“But Anna’s **deamhan** is a spider,” Mauisse points out. “It's good luck for her…”

May-Anna steps in. “That's why I got so hyped up.”

“Oh?” The little witch’s head tilts, curious.

“Yep!” May-Anna sits on the step, pats the spot. “I been lookin’ for a new job a coupla months now ‘n’ the spiders means my patience is payin’ off.”

“Oh!” Mauisse grins. “That's awesome!”

May-Anna nods. “It is.” She changes the subject. “Wanna go pick hickory nuts an’ acorns with me? Need a lot for tonight ‘n’ I ain't as spry as you no more.”

“Of course!”

Affectionately, May-Anna ruffles the pageboy cut her cousin has sported for the last two years. “Thank ya, little kitten.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Medb is pronounced Meav.  
> Deamhan is dæmon.  
> Siúl Oíche is Night Walk


	17. 16. Web

Like Granma Bennie thought, Mauisse had lost her button up shirt. Well, more accurately, she was using it to carry hickory nuts and acorns and big oak leaves and pine cones and fallen rose petals. But the woman digressed.

“Let's go sort everything.” May-Anna nudges Mauisse toward the door. “I gotta talk with Auntie Bennie a moment, though. Don’t be shy to do that organization yourself, kitten.”

Mauisse lifts her face to smile brightly up at May-Anna. “Okay, Anna!” She hurries inside, saying hello to Granma Bennie as she goes.

Turning to her aunt, May-Anna places her hands on her hips. She slips from Irish to French like a natural speaker. “While we were out gathering, I thought about what I found out.”

“Oh?” Granma Bennie doesn’t move, just watches her niece. “What did you think about it?”

May-Anna is oddly quiet, proving her  **deamhan** true. The woman takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. She speaks. “I can’t go into the forest with Mauisse, I understand that. But I will wait at the bushes for her to come back. And if she isn’t back by the time Samhain is over, I’m going in after her.”

“If she isn’t back at midnight,” Granma Bennie says, a low keen to her voice that proves how much the idea terrifies her, “then she is no longer on this plane. She is in the Otherworld permanently.”

“I won’t let her stay there,” May-Anna growls. “Queen Medb almost took me because I share her name and I will not let Granny Alannah do the same because of Mauisse’s magic.”

“Granny won’t take Mauisse because of her  _ magic _ , May-Anna. That’s preposterous.” Granma Bennie shakes her head.

“I don’t trust our ancestors as you do, Auntie. The web they weave…” May-Anna sighs, changing the subject. “As future matriarch you hold just as much control as Mama Mauisse. Let me do this.”

The old woman sighs, worry shining in her gentle blue eyes. “Oh, very well. But not until the minutes before the high moon passes, May-Anna. A minute in the woods is an hour to the spirits on Samhain.”

May-Anna lifts her chin. “I’m aware.”

“Then you understand you have just an hour, if my little witchling isn’t back, to save her from the Fae.”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Granma Bennie waves her hand. “Go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Medb is pronounced Meav.  
> Deamhan is dæmon.  
> Siúl Oíche is Night Walk


	18. 17. Vampire

The sun lowers fast and the men are told to leave. Bill is new to the custom, and Kenneth explains willingly as they follow the other men and teen boys away.

“Mauisse.”

Mama Flowers ushers Mauisse over to her lap. The child looks up at her great-grandmother with reverence.

“As you know, this is your first Samhain.” The girl nods. “As your first, you cannot partake in the feast tonight. You must go through the Rite of Passage, the **Si** **ú** **l O** **í** **che** , before you may feast with your ancestors.”

Confusion mars Mauisse’s young face. So Mama Flowers elaborates.

“All boys and girls, after they’ve turned seven, take a Rite of Passage on Samhain. It isn't spoken of to the children until the day of the Rite.” Mama Flowers goes on to explain, “It has been a rite of the Flowers Clan for generations, adopted since before the Celts came to Ireland and Scotland and introduced the modern gods to our old ways.”

“Really?” Mauisse is awestruck by the knowledge. Then a curious thought rises. “Why did the boys leave, then?”

“Because the Rite is observed only by the women of the Clan,” Mama Flowers goes on. “The women always have at least the Sense, but men many times don’t even have that. It is a curious part of our heritage, something we will never be able to explain. It means we cannot send in men to the forest like we can the women, little kitten.”

“Oh.”

Mauisse looks at the woods, at the darkness there even though the sun wasn’t set completely yet.

“Mauisse,” the child looks back to her great-grandmother. “There are very important rules you must follow during the **Si** **ú** **l O** **í** **che**.”

“What are they?”

“You cannot eat before entering,” Mama Flowers begins,” nor can you eat in there. Even if those within promise to let you return to us, you will be tethered to the Otherworld. It is a rule of thumb many have learned the hard way.”

“Like the god Bran and Greek goddess Persephone?” Mauisse asks tentatively, to which the matriarch beams and nods.

“Come.” Mama Flowers shoos Mauisse from her lap. “We must dress you for the night. We haven’t an idea how long you’ll be there this night.”

Mauisse follows obediently, asking why she has to change clothes. Mama Mauisse smiles at the girl as she explains that it's a sentimental part of the Rite the Clan never kicked, all the while weaving ivy and sprigs of white flowers with green and white rose buds into a crown and into a necklace. As she weaves the last flowers together, Mauisse is pulling on a small cotton dress of blue that strangely fits her perfectly.

“Your grandmother made it,” Mama Flowers explains.

Mauisse plays with the soft cotton, rubbing the sleeves against her cheeks. “Granma did a good job.” She looks at her great-grandmother as she lifts the flower necklace. “Where is Granma? Where are the others?”

“Waiting for you.”

“Why?”

“It’s how this works.”

“Okay.” Mauisse nods, unease in her stomach at how these comments make her think of the saying “that’s how it’s always been.”

“Mauisse.”

They step out onto the porch, twilight is reaching it’s end. Mama Flowers walks her to the bushes, where the women are stood from the youngest at nine to the eldest being Mama Flowers.

“At the last minute of twilight, the bushes will part for you and you will pass into the Otherworld. You will have nothing but your clothes and your knowledge.” Mama Flowers explains. “No matter how hungry or thirsty you become, you cannot eat or drink there. As is the purpose of the Rite, you are to walk through the Otherworld and discover two things.”

Granma Bennie comes forward, holding a leather cord in her wrinkled fingers, eyes shiny.

“You must find your **deamhan** and your patron goddess or god.” Granma Bennie finishes for Mama Flowers, taking over. “As a witch of the Clan, you are to perform the Rite on your own with no help and with no magic. It is our hope you bring good fortune to us through your patron, no matter who they be, for your magic will help us prosper and become even greater than we are.”

“I will,” Mauisse nods, the full severity of this matter finally reaching her.

Granma Bennie steps suffocatingly close, lifting the leather cord to lower over her granddaughter’s head. Her old, calloused fingers cup Mauisse’s face. “There is one more stipulation, little kitten; you must return before midnight. If you do not, you are stuck in the Otherworld and no one can bring you back. Our legacy ends with you if you fail tonight.”

Suddenly terrified, Mauisse nods numbly. A crazy thought reaches her, reminding her of the nightmares she had the last few nights. Voice quiet, she asks, “Are there vampires?”

Granma Bennie visibly hesitates, old eyes unsure. Before she can speak, Mama Flowers gives a high, keening whistle and the women begin to chant. Granma Bennie steps back, chanting with the women.

Right before Mauisse’s eyes the rose bushes rise as though human, their roots pulling from the deep, rich earth to function as legs. The yellow and pink and red and green and blue roses flutter as the greenery moves, some petals knocked off to fall helplessly to the ground. The woods Mauisse remembers full of trees and birds and bugs is gone. There's a bridge of dark wood extending past the opening. The beginning of the beautiful, sturdy bridge is covered in scarlet and lemon yellow oak leaves, a few sprinkled further down in a haphazard manner. Dying bushes and aged, thin oaks go on for miles before a heavy fog cuts off the world where the bridge drops down over a hill. A brief ravine runs under the bridge, too small to be a danger to anyone.

The forest is beautiful but unnervingly quiet. No wind moves the leaves or sways the branches, not a bird sings or cricket chirp, there isn’t even a croaking frog.

Mauisse turns to look at her Granma Bennie, sees May-Anna instead who’s put on a brave face and is watching Mauisse with the kind of look Nic once gave Mauisse, when she was small and nearly too young to remember a sister’s affection. Mauisse takes a breath, feels her stomach clench and threaten to grumble, listens to the wind on the side she’s standing on, imagines the crackle of the bonfire she won’t see for a while yet. Her mind races over the rules: _I can’t eat or drink there, I can’t use my magic, I must be back before midnight, I will be alone, and I must find my_ **_deamhan_ ** _and patron._

Her hand grabs the leather cord tight, remembers the one around May-Anna’s neck where a spider wrapped in amber hangs. Granma Bennie’s is a cat and Mama Flowers’s stays hidden under her dress always. Her toes dig into the soft soil, curling into the cold grass, then she takes a step forward. Another follows it, and another, and then she’s passed over.

Mauisse turns fast when she hears the rustle of rosebushes, but she’s too late and there’s a wall of rose briers. A shiver runs down her spine as the stillness, realizes this must be limbo. Realizes she has to pass through Limbo into the Otherworld.

Mauisse prays that her **Si** **ú** **l O** **í** **che** is quick.

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *


	19. 18. Zodiac

The first thing Mauisse knows when she leaves Limbo is that it is cold. The second thing is that she likes the snow covering her feet and finding its way into her hair and along her little shoulders. She likes the cold and snow and wants to bury herself in it.

Mauisse hopes her **deamhan** is a winter animal, like a snow fox or penguin. It wouldn’t be the first time in the Clan a family member came back and moved away to a colder place once of age, not that Mauisse was aware of this.

The third thing Mauisse knew was that there was wind and animals scurrying around in the snow.

 _I have to find my_ **_deamhan_** , Mauisse recites mentally, looking around the empty area of ice and snow and wind and hidden animals, _and my patron god or goddess_.

She begins walking, listening to the soft scurries and distant bird cry. She doesn’t know what bird it is, but she guesses a carrion bird, like a crow or maybe a vulture.

The cold does seep into her eventually, limbs rattling in an attempt to keep warm. Her hands, red and white and stiff, rub up her arms and down. Mauisse wants to turn back but knows it isn’t an option. If she doesn’t do it now, then she’ll never be a witch like her great-great-grandmother and countless others in her family. And right then all she wants, next to a fire, is to be a witch.

 _I cannot use magic_ , she strictly reminds herself when she sees the first real signs of life. _That means I cannot light a fire with it either_.

A strange thought occurs to her. _Does starting a fire_ by hand _count as magic_?

Mauisse decided not to tempt fate and kept going.

Above her the sky was illuminated by stars, the moon big and full. It made the snow and the flakes carried by wind shine like the stars above. Something is Mauisse settled at the sight, letting her breath leave her completely.

Her breath leaves in a great, white gust, curling up and up into the air before disappearing in fleeting wisps of beauty.  It makes Mauisse’s eyes sting.

She keeps walking, the stars of the Zodiac shining down on her.

* * *

The Otherworld is as strange as she always imagined it to be.

Mauisse took a single step between a pair of trees in the winter woods she was in, both tall and bowed close at the top like gossiping courtiers. It felt like someone had grabbed her hand when she did, lifting it above her head and spinning her. Snow had swirled around her, getting mixed up in her hair and down her dress. Then the world settled and it was warmer, enough to make the snow melt and warm Mauisse’s frigid feet and take the ache from her hands.

The sky is cotton candy pink with fluffy clouds, marigold smeared to the underbellies. Hills of rolling green spread before her, filled with little huts and running children and walking adults. Cattle graze in the far fields, sheep downhill to them. Chickens run around, pigs root in a big pen.

Mauisse stares in awe, feet seeming stuck to the ground.

A chorus of birds scream behind Mauisse, and she turns fast to watch a flock of ravens take off. A giant forest rises, reaching to the sky like the Damned for forgiveness. Mauisse hardly can believe that the winter woods she came from have become this grand forest.

A throaty croak, almost a croon, sends Mauisse spinning back around. In the spring grass, staring with intelligent black eyes, is a raven. It tilts its head, neck feathers thick and disarrayed. It takes a step forward, then hops back when Mauisse shuffles forward.

Mauisse stills her whole body, makes her breath still in her throat. She wants to touch the raven, but she doesn’t know if it’s her **deamhan** or not. Maybe it was curious about the little witch who came from nowhere, maybe that was why the bird approached her.

The raven calls again, then runs at her. Mauisse gasps, stumbles back, and the bird jumps, flaps its wings, and lands on Mauisse’s shoulder. It nudges her cheek as Mauisse trembles in shock.

Her mind dances with knowledge, a long list of the different meanings the raven held in various cultures. And in hers, in the Celtic culture, ravens always foretold war and death. In others, like the Norse mythos, they meant knowledge and prophecy.

Mauisse shakes more, holding herself tight. The raven takes a few strands of her hair, tugs mercilessly so Mauisse whines like a little animal and turns her head away. The raven decides to poke her neck to get her attention.

“Get off me.” Mauisse states, turning her head to look forward, unwilling to glance sideways at the big, black feathered weight on her shoulder. “I don’t want an animal meaning war and death as my **deamhan**.”

The raven croaks, tilting it’s head to rub her cheek. A shudder runs down Mauisse’s back and she reaches up as the flickering of longing twitches down her spine from the creature. Mauisse yanks her off, making the raven scream and twist in the small hands.

“I do not want you!” Mauisse snaps after crouching to set the raven down, her bright black eyes looking for all the world like a wounded person’s. She listens patiently to Mauisse. “I do not want to be a killer or go to war! I want to be nice and help people!”

She huffs, then flaps her wings. She croaks again, seeming to glare at Mauisse. It’s almost like the raven is telling the witch, _Well, you’re stuck with me! You don’t want me, but I want_ you _. Deal with it_.

Mauisse scowls, stands, and runs down the hill. The raven screams, and Mauisse can already tell she’s being chased after. To prove her right, the raven strikes the back of her head. Mauisse flies forward, her chin strikes a rock, and she keeps momentum, rolling down the hill. Chickens scatter and cry out, flapping away, as the children stop playing, staring at the strange girl who is screaming at a raven attacking her.

“Get off!” She yells, voice high pitched and panicked. “Get off me! Get off!”

“Little witch,” a smooth voice, throaty and deep, and curling around Mauisse who was curled up and whimpering like a child, “you should not offend your inner self so much.”

The raven stopped her attack, giving an offended croak. Mauisse lifts her head, flinching when she sees the raven staring back. For a moment, the raven looks ready to strike again. But instead comes close with a softer noise and rubs her head against Mauisse’s cheek.

Warmth tingles down Mauisse’s back at the touch, letting the raven close in fear of being attacked again. The connection tells Mauisse the raven is named Aamor, happy to finally be leaving the Otherworld. The connection also tells Aamor how displeased Mauisse is to know her inner self is meant for battle and war and death.

Aamor croons, sliding her frigid beak along the child’s cheek. It does little to sooth her, but Mauisse appreciates the sentiment.

“It seems you have begun to accept her, little witch.” The new voice is young, whistle-y and knowing. There’s a kind note and Mauisse looks up finally, sitting up, legs under her.

“How entertainin’ tah see you run away from who yer to become,” the third laughs in her crinkling, heavy accent that reminds Mauisse of the Scots and Irish. “Then accept it after a fight, however reluctant.”

Three women, ranging from early-twenties to late-forties, watch Mauisse, red hair bright in the sun. Mauisse can already guess who they are, can already sense the immense power cradled by the trio, and asks anyway, “Wh-who’re you?”

All three laugh, notes different frequency and oddly mixing well. It leaves Mauisse’s head ringing. Aamor jumps into Mauisse’s lap, Mauisse’s arms automatically dropping to curl under Aamor to keep the animal in her lap.

“We,” the youngest begins with a kind smile, lips the color of death, gown black with white laces and embroidery, the eldest finishes, dress dipped in pitch with strokes of charcoal gray, bottom ripped to shreds, “are the Morrígan.”

“O-oh.” Mauisse quivers, praying they would be on their way. To invoke their anger meant instant death and, while deadly and beautiful in battle, even the Flowers Clan would not want such terror trailing their family. Maybe before the end of the 20th Century, but not now. Not ever again. “Nice to meet you.”

The middle one kneels, dress evening grey, red fur reminiscent of a wolf’s fur cloak. Her bright eyes stare into Mauisse’s.

“Do not act dumb, little witch. You know why we’ve come and not another.”

“B-but,” Mauisse holds Aamor closer, “I’m to have _one_ patron, not three.”

“We are one.” A slender hand is held out, nails sharp with grit underneath. It belongs to the eldest. “I am the chaos and banshee of battle, Nemain.”

Mauisse takes it as Aamor jumps to her shoulder, letting herself be pulled to standing. Her arms and head hurts, hair askew and crown falling apart at her feet.

The youngest bows, black lips curling at the corners. “You may call me Badb, little witch. I decide the deaths and watch for rebirths, for I foresee all futures.”

The third, unnamed but Mauisse able to deduce who she was, bent down to curl her red nails around Mauisse’s shoulders. “I am Macha, the wealth and prosperity of battle.” She runs a slender finger over the cheek Aamor had yet to give affection to. “We, as one, represent you in battle once you pass from here to the Livingworld.”

“We call this the Otherworld,” Mauisse blurts, unable to think of a reply to this tripartite goddess.

Bloody lips spread wide, sky gaze mirthful, “You will be very amusing once you are older and more your own self. I look forward to it.”

“Thank you?”

“Thank _you_.” Badb assures.

Nemain’s pale grin is thirsty. “We have longed for war since the end of your worst in the forties of the one-thousand, nine-hundreth century.”

“But there isn’t a war!”

“Not one you can partake in yet,” Bedb croons, sitting in the cool grass to Macha’s right. Mauisse realizes all the people have scattered, hiding in their homes at the sight of the three women with war on their tongue, battle in their eyes, and death in their breath. “But one day, many years from now for you, there will be a calling to battle and you must take it. For the good of all to be and is and was, you must accept.” Something in Mauisse’s eyes must give away her panic, because Bedb’s battle-crazed. excited look calms. She brushes away Macha’s hands, turning the child to her. “Do not worry. You will not be alone. You will have us and a Circle. You’ve even met one of the Circle, though certainly not ready for his role just as you are not.”

“I don’t want to fight though,” Mauisse whispers. “I want to help people and do good.”

“You shall,” Bedb cups Mauisse’s face. “Oh, you shall help. And you shall heal. And you shall fight. But all in due time.”

“Really?” She asks, something in Mauisse’s heart suddenly burning with need.

“Yes, little witch.”

“Promise?” Her voice is soft, eyes big.

Bedb assures. “You will be a legend for years to come and go, never forgotten.”

Mauisse’s eyes sparkle at the possibility of being remembered forever.

Nemain grins at the child, kneeling by Bedb. She takes Mauisse from Bedb’s hands, turning her to her and wrapping her arms around the girl. “You will be beautiful in battle, little witch,” Nemain says. “A true goddess.”

Macha laughs from the other side of Bedb. “She shall be so much and more, Nemain.”

“Yes,” Nemain nods calmly, pulling away. “And as a precaution, I shall give a gift unto you so you may never forget us, particularly me.”

Despite her, Mauisse is eager to know. “What is it?”

“A kiss,” Nemain states, then draws the little witch forward. Her cold lips slant against the girl’s, soft and careful. Mauisse squeaks at the kiss and is released right after. Nemain licks her lips, grin even more feral. “I have stolen the fabled first kiss from you, so no one else may steal such a gift.”

Mauisse stares, small hand over her mouth that stings with wrong. Aamor squawks indignantly from Mauisse’s shoulder, flapping her black wings at the goddess. Bedb and Macha give Nemain a disapproving look but do not stop their eldest part from doing what she wants. Bedb takes Mauisse from Nemain.

“I will give a gift that is not such a disrespect to you,” Bedb smiles, and pulls a ring from her finger. It is a Claddagh, shiny silver and warm when Bedb takes Mauisse’s right hand, sliding it onto her right finger with the crown facing Bedb. “So long as you wear this, you will be protected from death and shall be free of humanity’s fickle heart. Only those who truly love you will find you.”

“Give me the little witch,” Macha implores, holding out her arms. Her bright eyes sparkle with mischief. “She must receive a truly glorious gift from me that far surpasses yours!”

“You don’t need to,” Mauisse says, terrified of what Macha could give. Though it would definitely be better than a kiss from Death.

“I must! I must!”

Mauisse thinks wildly of Sleeping Beauty and fears another goddess would appear and curse her. But none appears as Bedb lifts Mauisse and places her in Macha’s lap.

The goddess looks her over, bloody lips pursed in thought. “Your first kiss, a ring of protection and true love, what could be better than those? Aamor shall be your necklace, your connection to your magical ancestors and us, so I cannot give you that.” Aamor lifts her head haughtily, making Macha laugh. “Hmm, what could surpass?” An idea sparkles in her gaze. “What are your thoughts on body art?”

“Henna?” Mauisse questions, confused. “It is pretty.”

“While the Indian art is beautiful,” Macha laughs kindly, “I meant the art many men and some women wear. That stays upon the skin.”

“Oh!” Confused to why the goddess would ask, Mauisse answers honestly, thinking of Clyde’s many tattoos from the Navy, one of which was her as a baby. “I like them. They are pretty and I would love one.”

She didn’t think of adding “when older.” Clyde told her that when she told him she wanted a tattoo. She figured it was always implied after he explained why she could get it after turning eighteen.

“Perfect!” Macha claps her hands. “Sit very still or it will hurt very much!”

“What?” Mauisse is turned, staring at the village with wide, scared eyes. “I didn-”

Her dress is pulled down in the back. A hot hand slides under, half over her shoulder blade and half across her small back. Mauisse’s words choke off with the feeling of a hot brand pressing into her soft, tender flesh. Tears spring to her eyes and she bites her lips. Aamor screams for Mauisse, feeling her witch’s pain, but doesn’t attack Macha out of fear of being hit and doubling their hurt.

“Perfect!” Macha cheers, removing her hand. “It is perfect and fits you beautifully! A crow feather with crows breaking away from it to take flight.”

Mauisse’s whole back throbs. She wants to cry.

“You’ve hurt her,” Badb remarks, some remorse in her voice. “I think you gave a gift worse than Nemain’s.”

“I can remove it,” Macha replies, the hot hand already touching the nap of Mauisse’s neck.

The child scrambles from Macha’s lap like a spooked rabbit, collapsing in the grass. She turns, staring at the three with big eyes. “D-don’t!”

Macha blinks, then tilts her head. A frown pulls her red lips down. “I did not realize it would hurt so much, little witch.”

Mauisse registers that Macha doesn’t apologize. It makes Mauisse’s heart ache. Aamor coos, rubbing her black head over Mauisse’s wet cheek.

Something amazingly defiant rises in Mauisse at not receiving an apology. She never gets an apology from her sister when Nic does something mean to her. She won’t let these three treat her the same. “Well it _did_ ,” she snaps, getting to her feet as a warning feeling thrums through her from Aamor. “All three of you have manhandled me, and I think you marked me the worse for it.”

Macha rears back as though struck, then anger blazes in her gaze. Bedb looks partially offended and Nemain positively wrathful. “And what, _little_ witch, do you expect in return? A kiss to make it better? Us to revoke our patronage and let a less appealing god or goddess lay claim to such a small, bitter soul? Not another would come close with a soul like yours, especially after we tried to take you. You would be a patronless witch, and what happens to them is ugly.” She lifts her chin, sneering at Mauisse. “You know the witch hunts and burnings. The black magic only they could cast, only _you_ could cast. You would belong to the devil’s brood. No longer a witch but a devil’s child.”

“I do not want another kiss or you to revoke.” Mauisse snarls like a little feral wolfpup. “I want what no one gives me, what no one thinks we who are young deserve, but expect from us: an apology. And for it to be sincere.” She stands up straighter, shoulders back like all the princesses she sees do. She may as well keep going. If they expect her to be something later, she won’t leave without something other than mental scarring. “And if you demand respect, I deserve it as well. I will not be mistreated by my patron of all beings. You respect me or you do not receive the future you want. I will make my path as a devil’s child if I must.”

Macha narrows her eyes. Nemain’s teeth are barred. Only Bedb looks understanding. Her voice is calm, solemn. “You are abused, little witch.”

“Yes.” Mauisse doesn't hide it. “But not by my Clan.”

Nemain calms suddenly. “I suspected I had tasted blood…”

Macha gentles. “That is never a war we wish upon someone. But it explains much.”

“I do not want sympathy!” Mauisse snarls. “I want an apology and respect!”

“And both you shall have,” Bedb responds. “From us and those in the future.”

Macha holds out a clawed hand, gaze imploring in a more gentle manner. “Come, sit by me and listen to me. I shall respect you so long as you respect me.”

Mauisse sits, nervous but sure of herself. “All I have ever done is respect you.”

“So you have.” Macha nods. She fixes a flower on the crown Mauisse still wears. “Forgive me, little witch. I know not your past like Bedb does. I only know what people tell me at current. I would remove the pain you now feel if I could.”

“Thank you,” Mauisse replies sincerely. Her back’s ache seems to have mostly passed.

“Do not simply say ‘thank you,’ little witch. You must let the person know whether you forgive them or not.” Nemain warns, and innocent hazel eyes turn to her. “Or else they feel inclined to commit pain towards you once again.”

“I see!” Mauisse nods. She looks back at Macha. “Thank you! I forgive you, Lady Macha.”

“Thank you, little witch.” Macha pats over the flowers on the child’s head. “Would you like to come see more of the Otherworld? Or would you like to return to the Livingworld?”

As tempting as it was to stay, Mauisse felt her hunger return. She didn't know how long she'd been gone but it felt like a long time. Her rules came back to mind: _I can’t eat or drink here, I can’t use my magic, I must be back before midnight, I am alone, and I must find my_ **_deamhan_ ** _and patron._

Mauisse looks between the women. Feels Aamor nudge her cheek. _I must be back before midnight_. She pets the creature’s head.

“I'm sorry,” Mauisse says. “But I can't stay. I have to return to the Livingworld.”

“Very well.” Bedb stands, lifting Mauisse to her feet.

Something rushes past Mauisse, swirling her hair around her face and obscuring the small witch’s view and causing Aamor to caw in minor alarm. Mauisse reaches up to hold the corvid protectively, shivering at the sudden onslaught of cold again.

Opening her eyes, Mauisse finds herself in the winter woods again. With big eyes, Mauisse looks around.

“Wow!”

The Morrígan laugh.

“You make a goddess feel young again,” Macha giggled. “Don't ever lose your wonder.”

“It's amazing! I didn't know you could teleport.”

Bedb bends down to one knee in front of Mauisse, taking the girl’s attention. “There are many things we can do, little witch. And under our patronage, you shall develop these abilities too. Teleportation is a common power among us of the immortal kind. Shapeshifting,” she sees the child’s excitement and indulges her, “– which you shall one day develop if you practice enough– and several others are common too.”

“What will I get from you?”

“Several items of interesting use.” Nemain speaks up. “One being you will be able to feel the feelings of others with skin contact, another you can feel a coming death or death committed by that person.” The goddess thinks for a moment. “One witchling we took long ago could feel the different timelines and chose based on how many deaths would happen. We intervened once or twice.”

“If these aren't common, how will I learn?”

“Through Aamor.” Macha runs scarlet nails over the bird’s sleek head. “She will be a conduit between your body and your magic and this realm. As you learn and expand your magic, so will she accordingly.”

“But isn't Aamor dead?” Mauisse asks. “She can't come back with me.”

“She can.” Bedb assures. “Due to witches being rare within your family the last few generations, none of them know their necklaces actually house souls. A person’s **deamhan** is not just an animal that fits _their_ personality but a _very_ specific animal, whose own personality and emotion corresponds to who the person will become. When you pass from here to the Livingworld, Aamor shall become a pendant around your neck.” She takes the leather cord around Mauisse’s neck. “And it will be here. Under no circumstances are you to take it off, for she is your protector and conduit. She will make sure you live a full life. Because her job, first and foremost, is ensuring you live to a ripe, old age before joining her. **Deamhans** choose their person for eternity.”

Mauisse feels a wave of possessiveness running down the link between Aamor and her, it a jarring sensation because Mauisse had yet to know it was possible to feel it so strongly. It was heady and somehow comforting and wrapped Mauisse in a blanket of protection. She'd only felt that kind of protection once before, when her Clyde’s temper was especially short and Granma Bennie had arrived in time to save Mauisse from a spanking. It wouldn't have been Mauisse’s first spanking, but it would have hurt a lot more than usual with a belt buckle instead of a wooden spatula. Granma Bennie’s wrath hadn't scared Mauisse like Clyde’s did in that moment. It made her feel safe and loved.

Mauisse reaches up, petting Aamor with an affection she didn't even use with Spot. It was… Mauisse didn't know. It wasn't motherly like with the dog, it was _more_. Far more than she knew yet. One day she may come to understand.

“Well, little witch.” Bedb stands. Mauisse looks up at the battle goddess. “Time for you to return to the Livingworld.”

Mauisse turns to the trio, looking between them with new eyes. Aamor rubs against Mauisse’s cheek.

“Will she be with me in Limbo?” Mauisse asks, suddenly very attached to her **deamhan**. Her chest feels warm with dual affection, it pulsing between them.

“We do not know.” Macha replies solemnly. “The path of a witch is usually only lonely during your **Si** **ú** **l O** **í** **che**. But Limbo is a place of mysteries even we not dwell upon. Only the Twins live there.”

The Twins. A shiver runs down Mauisse’s spine. The Twins were Bran the Blessed and his sister Branwen. The only two gods to have ever died. They came back, as all gods do, but they weren't the same afterwards and had been exiled to Limbo, the in-between of worlds.

“I hope you come with me.” Mauisse murmurs. “Limbo is scary and I've become attached to you.”

Aamor gives a quiet caw, with a pulse of reassurance in their connection. It makes Mauisse feel safer and able to go through Limbo again.

“Ready, little witch?” Nemain questions her.

“Yes.” Mauisse assures, giving a single nod. “I think I am.”

Aamor caws again, nudging Mauisse’s cheek again, and she knows she's gonna miss the feeling.

“Before you go,” Bedb says, and Mauisse turns to the goddess, “sometimes, if very lucky and in need of it, a witch will gain a Familiar. It's different from a **deamhan** . The Famililar helps the witch use more of her magic for multiple things at once while the **deamhan** is a conduit.”

“Sometimes, the Familiar is the witch’s **deamhan** given another life.” Macha adds, glimmer in her eyes.

Mauisse gives a soft breath of surprise. “Oh.” Hope curls around her heart. She glances at Aamor out the corner of her eye, who glances back. Mauisse turns to the row of rosebushes lining the winter land.

“Good luck, little watch,” all three chime, a trio of hands giving her a slight push forward.

The bushes part and Mauisse tumbles through.

* * *

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aamor is pronounced ah-more, means warmth and affection  
> deamhan is dæmon  
> Siúl Oíche is Night Walk  
> Raven: war, battleground, death, prophecy
> 
> Morrígan (more-ree-ghan): fate, foretells doom and death in battle  
> Badb (badh-uv): 20’s, Karen Gillan; “I decide the deaths and watch for rebirths, for I foresee all futures.”; Lips the color of death, gown black with white laces and embroidery.  
> Macha (ma-cha): 30’s, Deborah Ann Woll; “I am the wealth and prosperity of battle.”; Red lips, red nails, dress evening grey, red fur reminiscent of a wolf’s fur cloak.  
> Nemain (nev-in): 40’s, Amy Adams; “I am the chaos and banshee of battle.”; Nails sharp and gritty, dress dipped in pitch with strokes of charcoal gray, bottom ripped to shreds.


	20. 19. Bones

Mauisse steps out of Limbo alone. A new warmth rests on her chest. When she looks down, the glow of the bonfire illuminates the iron raven dangling from the leather cord. It settles something deep in her bones that awakens a wildness in her.

Her dress is disarrayed, hair harried and flowers ragged. Instantly, May-Anna has Mauisse in her arms, squeezing her and rocking the small child.

“You've been gone for only thirty minutes!” May-Anna says, putting Mauisse at arms length suddenly. “That's such a short time.”

“My **deamhan** found me quick and my patroness was sure of their choice.”

“Their?” Confusion colors May-Anna’s face. “I thought you found _a_ patroness?”

“I did.” Mauisse fidgets, just a little. She reaches back to touch the tattoo on her back and May-Anna follows the movement. Then zeroes in on the iron raven, shiny and new in the blazing firelight. “It was–”

“Is that a raven?” May-Anna asks, reaching out for Aamor.

Mauisse snaps a hand up, covering the metalwork. A possessiveness fills her, shocking Mauisse at this new emotion. At the depth and way it coils in her young, soft muscles. A shudder runs down Mauisse, feeling foreign in her skin already.

“Yes. Her name is Aamor. She is kind and sweet and affectionate. I accept her as my **deamhan**.” Mauisse explains calmly, body relaxing when May-Anna pulls her hand back. “The Morrígan came to me right after Aamor claimed me, gifting me their patronage.”

May-Anna sucks in a sharp breath, white under her sun-kissed skin. “ **Morrígan leanbh** ,” the woman breaths, sending a tremor through Mauisse.

They'd promised she'd one day help people, that her being claimed by them would be good. Mauisse wouldn't let her family believe otherwise.

“They–” Mauisse hesitates, her hand lowering slowly from the necklace. She clenches her hand, feels the cool silver of the Claddagh on her finger. “Bedb promised my future to be that of a helper. And so I accept them as my patroness.” Aamor’s pride runs through her veins, filling Mauisse with nerve. She lifts her chin, relaxes her hand. “I am _honored_ to have the Morrígan as my patroness. And I will not betray them by ever denouncing it hiding my connection to them. One day, I will do good for this Clan and the world and that is all I ever want.”

May-Anna trembles in a way Mauisse had never seen. She had seen the woman shake with laughter, shiver with rage, and vibrate with pain. But this shaking was new and it admittedly scared Mauisse. The woman kneels, hands placed on her tiny, thin shoulders just like Macha and Medb and Nemain did. Her green eyes shine in the firelight, a deep worry there.

“If this is what you want, I will stand with you, Mauisse.” May-Anna states. “But you must know not everyone in the family will accept the fact you have been claimed by a goddess who means only bad outside of war.”

“I didn't either, at first.” Mauisse admits softly. She wishes she could pet Aamor. “But they made me feel safe and secure and Bedb assured me of the future. I have never felt safer than when she did that for me.”

For a moment, May-Anna stares. Then she nods, whispering, “Okay, okay.” She looks back at Mauisse. “Be ready to prove to this Clan you are not an omen of bad health.”

A bad taste settles in Mauisse’s mouth. She ignores it in favor of nodding and looking at the women of her Clan, gathered around the bonfire and throwing various bits of meats and nuts and other foods into the blaze. Aamor cannot talk to her, but she feels the raven’s phantom emotions. Her anger and displeasure, her belief that Mauisse shouldn't have to convince her family is an ill omen.

So Mauisse won't.

Granma Bennie notices them right then, aged face lighting up with pleasure. She comes over, plate full of mouth-watering roasted nuts, fat-glazed ham, crisp lettuce, and various other items. Mauisse’s stomach clenches, unused to not eating at such long intervals, and gives a deep, rumbling growl.

“You’ve returned from the Rite!” Granma Bennie bends, holding out an arm to her granddaughter. Mauisse steps close, giving her grandma a tight hug, suddenly feeling it would be her last. Granma Bennie stands, calling in their language, “The witch child returns!”

The others stop what they're doing and give whoops and cries and yells. Plates are set aside, some thrown completely to the blaze as they're made of paper. The women, dressed in various free-flowing clothes and barefoot, hair of various lengths and shades of blond and brown full of braids and flowers and dying leaves, circle the witchling and her grandmother and cousin, setting the child’s nerves even further aflame.

The women go silent at Mama Flowers’s imperial raise of her hands. Her eyes scan the crowd of women before she declares, voice soft and lilting, “Allow the witchling forward.”

The woman part. Mauisse can see the proud puff of Granma Bennie’s chest and the barely concealed apprehension on May-Anna’s face, with a cast of pride over her eyes despite the tension in her hands. Mama Flowers is the most neutral of everyone, with her gentle smile and non-judging eyes, the kind of mother everyone wants and not everyone gets. Mauisse certainly didn't, recognizing fear or shock frequently on Dawn’s face from Mauisse’s use of magic.

“You have performed the Rite of Passage, Mauisse, and you have returned to us from the other side.” Mama Flowers begins. “You have followed the rules set before you on the quest and returned with two items that will dictate your future as a witch and your place in this Clan; your **deamhan** and patron. Come to the fire and tell us your chosen animal and god, but do not tell us your journey for that is a sacred aspect to all witches.”

The other Flowers women take places around the bonfire in various positions with feet under bottoms, legs crossed, laid out on their sides, legs out before them, or laying against others. Mauisse stands with Mama Flowers before the elder woman takes a seat. Beside Mauisse, about a foot away, is May-Anna, eyes kind and loving.

“As requested of me,” Mauisse begins, hesitantly, and Mama Flowers gives an encouraging nod, “I entered the Otherworld and came back with my **deamhan** and patron.”

Her hand lifts to the iron raven, feels a rush through her body from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes and fingers. She lets out a breath, thinks of how the Claddagh that Bedb gave her would both protect her from death and allow those who truly loved her to be in her life. She lets go of Aamor.

“My **deamhan** is a raven, affectionate and warm to me.” The buzz of excitement around the bonfire is extinguished by Mauisse’s words. Visages close and even Granma Bennie looks slightly green. “My patroness is…” Mauisse stops, worries her teeth, decides to do it. As she opens her mouth, a wild thought forms and she turns, tugging at her dress until it's slipping down her formless, baby body to reveal the crow feather and it's flying crows. “My patroness is the Morrígan, and I accept them with love and grace as they did my wish to help and mend those in need.”

There's a thump and Mauisse spins, sees her grandmother is passed out on the ground with Aunt Dinah attempting to fan her, worried over her older sister. Mauisse pulls the dress back on, walking over in a hurry.

Aunt Dinah looks up fast, eyes blazing. “Don't come near her, **Leanbh an Bháis**!”

Mauisse flinches, steps back with fear. May-Anna’s arms wrap around her protectively, bringing her close like a mother protecting her child.

“Don't threaten my cousin, Mom.” May-Anna hisses. “Unlike you I don't discriminate.”

In a surprising turn, Mama Flowers chooses a side, settling a gentle hand on Mauisse’s shoulder in a way Mauisse was unaccustomed. She was used to Clyde doing it, kneeling in front of her to deliver the fact he was shipping out for months again or to tell her Dawn was going to the hospital again. It made her scared and sad and no amount of reassurance from May-Anna’s hold or Aamor could help it.

“She is an omen of the death of this Clan, May-Anna.” Aunt Dinah hisses. “And you should know better than anyone what that means, Mama.”

“I know that we have not heard everything Mauisse has had to say, and that unlike we with the Sight, she can speak to the gods and knows more of the Otherworld than you or I ever will.” Mama Flowers’s tone is calm, almost regal. “And I raised you so much better than how you are acting, Dinah. As youngest of my children, you know the struggle of expectations and failing the high standards.”

Having properly chastised the woman, Dinah’s head lowered to hide her typically snappy green gaze, Mama Flowers removes her hand, stepping away to address the entirety of the Clan women. “We will withhold judgement of our youngest daughter. While we held the hope of a flourish of future witches through Mauisse, we may yet see a flourish of some other good. It is simply a matter of hearing the truth which she found in the Otherworld.”

“But the path of a witch is to be kept secret!” A voice calls from the back. No one is sure who it is and no one steps forward to claim their words.

“That it is.” The matriarch concedes gently, eyes moving to Mauisse. “But in times like this, we must sometimes break our age-old code to protect those most in need of safety, and in this case our newest woman of the Clan needs it broken.”

“Woman?” Mauisse mouthed, a thrum of confusion flowing through her, mixing with a possessive need to keep her time in the Otherworld secret. How much would she have to reveal? How much would she get to keep to herself?

Mama Flowers turns to Mauisse. May-Anna’s arms slide reluctantly from around the witchling. “Mauisse, did the Morrígan tell you anything of their choice in choosing you? I understand that it is a fact the god or goddess chooses who they give patronage too, not the other way around. It is the same with a **deamhan**.”

Mauisse doesn't want to say. She touches Aamor and gets a stronger feel of possessiveness, knows it mainly comes from the raven who chose Mauisse as her witch. Takes a deep breath and thinks back to her talk with the Morrígan, each aspect so different and yet so similar to the other.

 

_“I don’t want to fight though,” Mauisse whispers. “I want to help people and do good.”_

_“You shall,” Bedb cups Mauisse’s face. “Oh, you shall help. And you shall heal. And you shall fight. But all in due time.”_

 

“They told me I'd help people, that'd I'd heal them,” Mauisse begins. “But it wouldn't happen until I was older.”

“Of course.” Mama Flowers nods. “No one would expect that of a child, not even the gods.”

“They also said,” Mauisse stops, unsure but knowing she must say it eventually. “They also said there'd be a calling to battle and that I'd fight, that that's how I could eventually help people like I want.” She fiddles with her dress sleeves, with the flower necklace. “At first I was scared of the idea of fighting other people, but they promised there'd be others with me. A– A–”

She searches for the word, can't seem to find it even as she's prompted with a couple words. None fit. But Mauisse remembered what Bedb said she'd be; a legend.

_“You will be a legend for years to come and go, never forgotten.”_

Mauisse assumes the rest of the people with her would be like her, remembered forever.

“A group of legends.” She supplies lamely, to which Mama Flowers tilts her head and nods slowly.

“You will bring our family fame.” Mama Flowers supplies. “The Morrígan saw a future in which you went to war and chose to become your patron. Your **deamhan** is a symbol of protection for you as much as it is for those in battle to fear.”

Mauisse doesn't try to say otherwise despite how wrong the assumption of Aamor feels, how it resonates between her and the spirit. Mauisse doesn't agree and, with how perspective the woman is, she's sure Mama Flowers notices. She keeps her mouth shut instead, staring at her great-grandmother.

A soft moan comes from Granma Bennie, and Mauisse is quick to her side, ignoring Aunt Dinah’s flinch.

“Granma!” Mauisse kneels, taking a cold hand. “Are you okay?”

“I've been better.” The elder woman says, sitting up with a little help from her sister. “It was a shock, is all.” She looks up into Mauisse’s eyes. “The Morrígan really claimed you as theirs?”

“Yes, Granma.” Mauisse murmurs. “But Mama Flowers explained it to the others.”

“I refuse to believe,” Dinah mumbles. “No goddess, even one like the Morrígan, suddenly changes their ways.”

“Then you have no place among us,” Mama Flowers says, holding a hand out to her eldest. Granma Bennie takes the hand, and old muscles tighten as the matriarch pulls Granma Bennie to her feet. Mauisse follows, hands held out to catch her grandmother. Dinah stands as well, glaring at Mauisse. “The Flowers Clan has always been accepting of those different, shying from the commonality of the magic community who dampen their magic through wands and hiding powerful women such a Tituba and other voodoo priestesses when they were ripped from their homes and used as slaves. To displace one of our own because she is fated to go to war is against what we’ve been taught.”

“Mama, she will _destroy_ our Clan.” Dinah pleads, motioning to Mauisse like she's a leper. “Witches claimed by Lebraid or the Morrígan outside war means the Clan’s destruction. It always has. The Pendragons with Morgana, the Putnam's with Anne, it's never been any other way.”

“But now it does mean something else.” The matriarch’s words are made of steel. “Unlike Anne Putnam, a woman with the Sense and nary a drop of magic ability, and very much unlike Morgana who had gone insane with her power, Mauisse was informed of _why_ she was chosen, told her role in concern to the future of her Clan. Neither of your examples had that.”

“They didn't need to! There were examples before that, proving why we fear the gods of death and war!”

“Mom, stop.” May-Anna begs. “You're causing a scene.”

“Maybe I should.” Dinah shakes her head. “The Flowers Clan has been so idle and repetitive for too long. It's time we changed some of the rules. Many of them, in fact.”

“And who would change them? You?” Granma Bennie asks with a reedy laugh. “You are the baby, Dinah. You'd only become matriarch if you killed me and our four other sisters. And even then, our rules protect us from outsiders who would do us harm, who would sooner kill us than have tea with us. They protect us from the magic community who would see us assimilate and forget our heritage before they would awknowledge us as a separate magic community.”

“Maybe that's a good thing.”

The words send horror streaking down deep into Mauisse, pulling her bones tightly together. Aamor’s phantom heart beats frantically against Mauisse’s and she doesn't understand why it scares both her and her **deamhan** so, but the idea of being like people her Clan fears makes her terrified.

“Maybe we need to become like the rest of the world. We can't stay cooped up in this little world of our own forever, Bennie!” Dinah snarls. She points at Mauisse again, who May-Anna is holding once more. “We will die out otherwise!”

“Leave her out of this!” Granma Bennie yells. “You're willfulness, you're need to fit in has nothing to do with my granddaughter and everything to do with you're moving away from us, to the other side of the US.” She steps close to her sister, them glaring at each other. “You have not come to a Clan celebration in thirteen years. Even my son, magicless, Senseless, wanting no part in his magic heritage, visited you in the hope you'd return to us. And you did not.” With brawn Mauisse had never been privy to, Granma Bennie pokes her sister’s shoulder. “You who thinks happiness would come from being called a “Squib”, from knowing you could never cast a “patronus” or weild a wand, from never interacting with another person in the non-witch community ever again.”

“Do not poke me again, Bennie.”

“I could whup your ass when I had the chicken pox and I still can at sixty. Try me, Dinah.”

“We will not fight on Samhain.” Mama Flowers steps between them, using her hands to push the pair apart. “You two posture more than two male bucks in heat, and last I checked only women are allowed at a female witch’s Rite.”

Aunt Dinah and Granma Bennie glare at each other. Mauisse is shocked by her grandmother’s aggression, used to a sweet, older lady who kissed scraped knees and showed her the differences between edible and poisonous lichen. She knew Granma Bennie more as “mother” than her own, and it was strange to see her in the role of aggressor and clearly dangerous. However, it didn't scare Mauisse. It rattled loose a deep fear in her, knocking it off into an abyss she wouldn't visit for years.

“Granma.” Mauisse reaches out, careful to not leave May-Anna’s hold. “Don't be angry at Aunt Dinah.” Mauisse wanted her grandmother to punch Aunt Dinah in the face, to be quite frank. But Mauisse knew how much trouble it would cause. “I know I'm strange, but it's okay. I'll grow out of it one day.”

“You shouldn't have to, little kitten.” May-Anna whispers to her. “You are fine as you are.”

Aunt Dinah draws herself to her full height, staring down the daughter she abandoned thirteen years, right before her own Rite of Passage, and her great-niece who she thought posed the biggest threat possible to the family.

Dinah worked her plum-colored mouth, cheeks sucking in hard. Then she spits at Mauisse’s feet. A few sticky drops hit her dirty toes, shining golden-red in the firelight.

“I'm never coming back. I wash my hands of the Flowers name.”

“Good.” May-Anna replies calmly, stepping back with Mauisse. “And Dad is still waiting on those divorce papers. He wants to keep our last name, says it gives him something to be proud of.”

Dinah sniffs, turning on a bare heel.

“Goodbye.”

The Clan watches Dinah walk away. Mauisse is unsure of the feeling in the air left by the older woman’s departure. Everyone looks on quietly and then not so quietly.

The same woman who'd spoken of a witch’s sacred rite of passage being kept secret gives a cry. It reminds Mauisse of an eagle’s call. Then similar yells and screams surround the blaze. May-Anna turns Mauisse to clasp her tiny hands, grin wide and pain gone from her brilliant green eyes.

“In the eyes of the Flower Clan, little kitten,” May-Anna tells her, “you've become a woman with the acquirement of your **deamhan** and patroness. With this, you are expected to now teach yourself magic and, as our current only witch, are given access to all the family grimoires. But,” she lays a hand on a chubby, ruddy cheek, “you are still a child in all ways, and are expected to still have fun and be lively. The only change is, now, you are officially one of us.”

May-Anna points at Aamor, careful not to press too close as she'd learned earlier not to do. “No matter what your **deamhan** or who you're patroness, you belong with us. It is engraved in a true Flowers bones to accept all no matter their background, creed, religion, sexuality, or skin. Without it, we could never love as deeply and wholly as we do.”

She shivers with this new knowledge. Mauisse already knew she would have to teach herself from now on, but the confirmation by another person finally brought forth emotions. And to know her family would love her despite the fact she was to be a bad omen on the Flowers Clan settled even Aamor. It made this all so much more better despite the loss of her Aunt Dinah.

“Now,” May-Anna stands fully, tugging her closer to the house before Mauisse can think further, “it has been a long, eventful night for you, and you must be starving! It is time to dance and celebrate and give worship to your goddess!”

The blonde’s laugh is light, warming Mauisse to her center, and she follows her cousin to the banquet table on the porch happily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aamor is pronounced ah-more, means warmth and affection  
> deamhan is dæmon  
> Siúl Oíche is Night Walk  
> Raven: war, battleground, death, prophecy  
> Morrígan (more-ree-ghan): fate, foretells doom and death in battle  
> Morrígan leanbh : Morrígan child  
> Leanbh an Bháis : either Child of Death or Baby Death. Either way, it's a big insult to Mauisse


	21. 20. Phoenix

Mauisse had just helped set the table, a rare family sit down for the smaller Flowers family made of her parents, siblings, and her, when there's a knock at the door. Setting down the last fork, short and one prong bent a bit too much left, she runs to the door.

Mauisse is wearing a Hamtaro tee and blue-jeans, bare feet dirty from playing outback with their big dog Snapper (who's never snapped at anyone or thing in his life) earlier. She's trailed by Spot, her black-and-white chihuahua-pikoodle mutt. His deep brown eyes are sweet and loving, with a territorial guard to them in concern to his mother, who is undoubtedly Mauisse. She drags a nearby chair to the brown-painted metal door, standing on it to look through the peephole.

A pretty woman with dark hair and skin stands on the other side, outside the glass door after the little dividing area between front porch and house, dressed in the kind of business suits Mauisse saw on Law & Order. Mauisse wonders why a lady dressed like a lawyer would be there as she gets off the chair, pushing it back to where it was. She proceeds to open the door, looking around it to the lady with narrowed eyes. Spot peeks with her and doesn't bark like usual.

“Hello.” Mauisse says.

The woman smiles. It lights up her face in a way Mauisse recognized from teachers smiling at her that way. It was a teacher’s smile: friendly and kind but there for money more than the kids. Mauisse tilts her head, looking over the woman again.

“Hi. Is this the Flowers residence?” Her accent is definitely Floridian, maybe Northern.

“Possibly.” Mauisse replies. “But there's lotsa Flowers. Which are you lookin’ for?”

“Clyde and Dawn Flowers.” The woman replies. “Are you their daughter?”

“One of ‘em.”

She knows her reply is saucy and this woman could be important (she's dressed like a lawyer, after all), but there's a distinctly _magical_ feeling to the woman and if it unsettles Aamor then it unsettles her too. Until that moment, her contact with magic outside the Clan had been zero. This woman was as foreign as it got for a girl like her.

“Are you Mauisse Flowers?”

“Maybe.” Mauisse lifts her chin. “Who’re you and why’re you askin’?”

“I'm Angela Kilimanjaro with the Magical Social Services of the United States.”

“Magical” doesn't scare Mauisse. “Social Services” does. She'd heard stories from other classmates about the social services, coming and taking them away from unfit parents and the foster system they were in. If this woman was here because of Mauisse and her sister pushing her down stairs, kicking her, and various other things, Mauisse didn't want this woman there. She didn't want to get in trouble for telling on Nic, just like Nic always threatened.

So she closed the door and locked it on a surprised look from Angela.

Her mother, dressed in a big, formless pink sleeping gown, waddles by, cane clutched in one hand. Her tired eyes, watery and pained and surrounded by sallow skin, glance from Mauisse to the door.

“Who was it, belle?”

That was her mom’s nickname for her, an attempt at being kinder to Mauisse from how neglectful she'd been until recently. Mauisse understood, with her being in and out of the hospital constantly, and the fact that Mauisse wasn't _normal_. Not by witch or non-witch standards.

“A strange lady.” Mauisse replies truthfully as Spot throws a disgusted look at the door. “She was asking about me and I didn't like it.”

Dawn hums, looks at the door for a long moment. “Lemme see her.”

“Mom!”

“It'll be fine.” Dawn waddles closer, Mauisse reluctantly letting her unlock the door. She watches Dawn open the door completely, always willing to trust people who came into the uneventful neighborhood, and stares openly at the magical lady. She stares at Dawn in surprise, as if not expecting the door to be opened up again or maybe at seeing such an oddly shaped, large woman. In Angela’s hand was a phone.

“Hello. I'm Dawn.” She steps into the dividing space, but doesn't unlatch the locked glass door. Mauisse is thankful for that. “You spoke to my daughter just now?”

“Uh, ah, yes.” The witch closes her phone, pocketing it. The jacket Angela wears shifts as she does and Mauisse catches a peek at a slender stick of wood, glossy and long. “I'm Angela Kilimanjaro. I'm with the Magical Social Services.”

Dawn’s body language changes. Though still fatigued, she shifts her body slightly, putting herself directly in front of Mauisse. The witchling snaps up straight at the action, looking straight up at her mom. All she sees in the back of a head with long, greasy black hair with a few gray strands, curles gone from too much medication. Mauisse reaches out, grabs a small fistful of her mom’s dress in a knee-jerk react to seeking comfort in a suddenly tense situation.

“Oh?” Dawn’s tone is cold, not a hint of curiosity there like the question should have. Mauisse wonders what her eyes look like, wants to know if they're narrowed or big or something else. “Where’s your proof?”

“Ma’am, as a no-maj, I–”

Dawn cuts her off, Angela’s mouth snapping shut with an audible click. “I'm sorry, I don't know what that term is. Now, _where is your proof?_ ”

The witch takes a moment, then reaches into her coat to withdrawn the glossy stick. “You requested proof, Mrs. Flowers, and here is it.”

“All I see is a shiny stick.”

Angel purses her lips, putting away the stick. “Ma’am, it's a _wand_.”

“Witches don't use wands.” Dawn’s tone is wry. “I think, having one for a daughter, I’d know that by now.”

“Without proper training, its unsurprising your daughter doesn't use a wand. Most children, pre-schooling, can do wandless maj–”

“Magic has never required a wand.” Mauisse speaks up, offended by this woman. “The basic rules of magic are: 1. Do not bring back the dead; 2. Do not play with time or love; 3. Magic is hands-on and should never need a wand; and 4. the Rule of Three doesn't apply to everything.” She puffs up as her mom rests a hand on her shoulder.

“You're a main-stream witch, I’m guessing?” Dawn asks. “Went to that stupid school they think can house all the witches from Mexico to Canada _and_ has the most racist “house” names, uses a wand, and only casts spells in Latin?”

“Latin is the base foundation of the English, Spanish, and French language, ma’am. I would be shocked if spells weren't in Latin.” Angela explains this calmly. “It's the base of all spells.”

“Witches aren't only white though.” Mauisse points out. “You're ancestors come from Africa, meaning their spells should be in an African language. There are also Asian and Pacific Islander witches, and South and North American witches. Their spells come in their languages, too. Not Latin. Latin is not the base of all spells. You think it is because that's what the main-stream taught you.”

Angela opens her mouth to reply, seems to have nothing, and closes her mouth. Mauisse comes from behind her mom even as Dawn tries to pull her back. Aamor is still wary of the woman, but Mauisse is starting to grasp something.

“Ms. Angela, why'd you come here?” Mauisse asks. “The main-stream magical community knows the Flowers Clan won't assimilate and works under their own guidelines, has since coming to America decades ago.”

“We received word that the Flowers family had a dangerous witch.” Angela admits. “And that it was you.”

“Dinah,” Dawn growls. “That _bitch_ tried to–!”

“Mom.” Mauisse grabs her mom’s hands to sooth her. “It's okay. Aunt Dinah said she was no longer a Flowers woman anyway.”

“I know, belle, but to do that–!”

“To do what?” Angela asks them urgently, wanting to know why she'd been sent all this way to talk to a child just as strange and kind as the rest of her enigmatic family.

“My Au–” Mauisse stops, clears her throat, corrects herself. “Dinah must have sent you in the hopes of having me taken from my family and taught the main-stream magic. I just went through my family’s Rite of Passage and she took my **deamhan** , my spirit animal, and patroness, the goddess I worship, badly.”

“I see.” Angela nods inside the house. “May we sit down? Or is this a bad time?”

“No, you're fine.” Dawn shakes her head. Looks at Mauisse. “Go set out another setting.”

“Okay!” Mauisse goes to do that.

Dawn turns her attention back to Angela. “Mauisse is just like the rest of the Flowers witches, Angela. The only difference is she's gonna one day do a lot of good for this family, and it's not by popping out kids like Dinah would prefer. Two weeks ago, my little girl came back with a raven and the Morrígan as her spirit animal and goddess. That raven’s been nothing but good for us, especially my health, and the Morrígan chose Mauisse because one day she's gonna be in a war or something and is gonna make sure this family survives it.” Dawn shows Angela to the dining room. “She's a hard-worker and she loves everyone. The only thing dangerous about her is how much she's attached to animals.”

Angela watches Mauisse set down a ceramic plate and plastic green cup, mix-and-matched forks and spoons and knifes all around the table. She looks at her mom, something in her hazel eyes showing apprehension at the situation and discomfort at not knowing what to do.

“Mauisse?” The witchling snaps her gaze to Angela. “Do you know what a Phoenix is?”

“Yes.” Her reply is quick, clipped. It's guarded, eyeing Angela like it's a trick.

“You ever wanted to see a feather from one?”

The way the girl's eyes light up says more than her gentle “yes” does. Angel smiles, reaches into her other pocket to produce a Phoenix feather she'd hoarded for years.

“Lemme tell you how I got this, then you can tell me more about these spells in other languages.” Angela raises a brow. “Fair deal?”

Mauisse hesitates, feels Aamor's apprehensive but tentative hope. Then decides to go for it.

“Okay. But only a couple in Russian. I’m learning Russian now.”

“Okay.” Angela smiles. “Let’s do that.”

Mauisse’s eyes sparkle.


	22. 21. Ballet

Mauisse’s mother decided when Mauisse was four that she needed to do something ‘normal’ to counteract being a witch. Granma Bennie, miffed at how Dawn treated Mauisse’s magic like a sickness, recommended ballet. It required, later in life, rigid practicing and the person to be fit. Granma Bennie had doubted the child would want to keep going after a year, no matter how well she got along with the other girls.

Knowing what the woman was up to, Dawn decided tap dancing would be a good choice too. So Granma Bennie signed Mauisse up to do both, funding the girl’s schooling and extracurricular activities.

Much to both women's surprise, Mauisse liked the classes and begged to keep going the following year. So she did. Mauisse learned to tap and she spun across the small stage she learned on. Though poor diet made her tummy protrude and made her a little more sluggish, it only made her more determined, made her stay after classes longer until her toes bled and her ankles ached. Before the rest of her class, she could do a shaky grand jete, almost giving Granma Bennie a heart attack when she went from simple pirouettes and plies into a small run and then the long, regal jump. With tap dancing she didn't put as much time, but it was easy to catch her practicing while doing things like walking around the house or washing dishes.

Mauisse kept going as she grew up, adding soccer to the mix, seeming to be a prodigy but simply determined to be great at whatever she did, from spinning to magic to even singing (a gift she’d dropped due to stage fright). For five out of seven days, Mauisse was at various practices. And then she decided to join Girl Scouts and six out of seven of her afternoons were filled up, and somehow the girl’s grades floated despite her large plate. She still read a lot and practiced her magic, getting in trouble once or twice for doing “slight of hands” in class.

Dawn was pleased at first with her youngest daughter’s drive, then became tired and flabbergasted as it passed. She wanted her daughter at home more, not less, hoping the extracurricular activities would make her realize just how much she wanted to be normal. But they had done nothing but give Mauisse an out for her aggression and fear and pain, able to dance until she was numb, kick until tired, talk until brave. Things Dawn had no idea about.

When the magic social worker Angela Kilimanjaro showed up, planning to take Mauisse away and put her into the magic community, Dawn had become unexpectedly protective of her youngest, having only in the last few months started to actually learn anything about her daughter and her interests. Learning how much doing these extracurricular activities meant to her daughter, how they gave her time to think (which was amazing because you'd think ballet, tap dancing, and soccer couldn't possibly become a muscle memory with how much mental focus was actually required), had explained so much to Dawn.

Her own childhood was spent sewing outside under the sun and helping around the town to escape her own mother’s failing health and her father’s descent into alcoholism, taking her little brother on her trips when he was old enough. Sewing had become a muscle memory just like spooning out hot soup at the poor house during winter was. Books were an escape for when she couldn't leave the house, stuck by her mother’s bedside and reading aloud while her father was getting drunk to drown out the pain he felt, James curled into their mother’s side to listen with rapt attention. Like Mauisse, these activities let her think and process so much, and she knew all of the things Mauisse saw Dawn go through from Clyde would require that.

Dawn had stopped grumbling about ballet, tap dancing, soccer, and Girl Scouts, deciding it was best anyway. Dawn’s own health was in such a constant flux and Mauisse seeing her mother as she ran out the door in ballet tights or shin guards to hop into her grandmother’s van was best and the easiest way to hide it. That way when she'd come home, sometimes as late as 10, Clyde or Nic would already have taken Dawn to the hospital or Mauisse would sleepover at her grandmother’s to avoid explaining why Clyde was taking Mauisse to Jacksonville again.

It was terribly depressing and watching her daughter spin and jump across the stage with the other girls her age during practice settled some of her depression. Dawn coughs into a rag and takes a long pull from her water. She wonders if her daughter will stick with ballet into her teens, will learn to do pointe work (Dawn had begun researching ballet more, curious about its appeal) when she's twelve or thirteen, maybe as late as fourteen.

She doesn't know, but she knows this is an escape for Mauisse and won't take it from her.


	23. 22. Egyptian

Clyde comes back from Egypt with gifts for everyone and, specifically, a book for Mauisse. It's a small book, filled with English to Egyptian words and phrases because, out of all the languages his daughter could pick up, he thinks this one would be the most interesting however useless with none of the spells she's learning hailing from Africa (which is honestly shocking but he doesn't care all that much to say he is).

He gives Nic a sheet of papyrus with an ankh drawn in thick, black ink, her name is in Egyptian down its middle with golden ink, reds and pinks and blues and greens fleshing out the scarabs and the interior of the ankh. She isn't all that enthused by it, but thanks him anyway and pins it on the wall of her bedroom to show some appreciation. The necklace with an amber covered scorpion is never worn by her, lips curling at it when she thinks his back turned.

It angers him, but he's focusing on making sure Jojo doesn't drop the glass case with a giant desert tarantula in it, his big blue eyes staring at the terrifying fangs and big beady onyx eyes, Mauisse leaned around her brother to look with the kind of fascination that said that, if alive, she'd have stuck her hand out to see if it would bite her. Which is concerning but then again, before he'd left, she'd bewitched a rattle snake before it could bite Dawn who'd stepped onto it, giving him time to grab a shovel and behead it. Mauisse had cried, saying she was asking ‘her’ to leave her mother alone, promising to find a big, juicy mouse for ‘her’ in exchange.

Clyde bought the tarantula for Jojo but it gives him nightmares so Mauisse keeps it instead, letting Jojo look at her case of butterflies, all big and bright and beautiful. Eventually the giant case finds its way to Jojo’s room and Clyde doesn't even bother protesting.

He doesn't understand why he buys things for any of them if they won't appreciate the items, giving them away or just never using them.

(At least Mauisse read the books he'd buy her.)


	24. 23. Anthro

“What's anthropology?”

Ms. Altman stares at Mauisse, arguably her sweetest and certainly her favorite and brightest student, eyebrows at her hairline. Today Ms. Altman has swept her short, brown bob back and put a bright blue headband in to match her more subdued blue and brown skirt/polo ensemble. Mauisse, on the other hand, is in a garishly bright pink shirt, flouncy plaid skirt, and her pageboy is made of nothing but cowlicks.

“Well, that’s a large word, for one. For another, why do you want to know?”

Mauisse holds up the book she has. In bright yellow at the top, is the name Kathy Reichs, who must be the authoress. Below that is the book’s title:  _ Déjà Dead _ . Below is a human skeleton resting in dark soil, bare skull up close and tilted toward the reader with the body extending back into nothing. A shiver runs down Ms. Altman’s back at the cover, then looks at Mauisse who looks back with that ever present curiosity.

“The lady in the book, Temperance Brennan, is an anthropologist.”

Not even  _ she _ could say the character’s name when she was seven, let alone anthropology, but here's Mauisse saying it like nothing. Ms. Altman thinks it comes with speaking and reading four (going on five) languages gracefully at such a young age.

“Anthropology is the study of humankind, ranging from our bodies to evolution to our societies, and how it all developed.” She doesn't mean to explain it in such a teacher-way, but she does and Mauisse doesn't seem to care. They're the only ones sat at the picnic table during recess, Mauisse’s ankle swollen and wrapped (she'd apparently hurt herself at soccer practice the evening before and couldn't do much running or excessive activities for the next couple days). All the other kids are playing games, running around, or swinging on the swings. They're careful to stay in their cliques, something Mauisse is clearly excluded from by these children, seen and felt as other. And even Ms. Altman feels how other Mauisse is, but she isn't repulsed by it like some of the other teachers (and especially the other kids) are. She accepts and loves Mauisse for it.

“What are you reading?”

“It's a crime novel,” Mauisse explains happily, pulling the book close to hug. “Temperance is an anthropologist trying to solve a bunch of murders. They're all females and they're ladies who work on the streets in Montreal, Canada. I like crime novels, but I don't read ‘em much because the words are a bit hard.”

“You don't know Latin yet?” Ms. Altman asks before she can stop herself. She expects Mauisse to be hurt by the slightly condescending tone, but she doesn't notice and just grins, saying, “Nope! I won't learn it for a while since the books I read most don't have a lot of Latin.”

Mauisse’s talk of magic and being a “witchling” had ended when she came from from Georgia back at the start of November. It had been weird, because she clearly still believed it and her “books” were the grimoires her grandmother had sat her down to read over, books that were bulky and old and used to be brought to class everyday but now Mauisse read novels at school. Magic wasn't allowed at school anymore. Ms. Altman didn't understand the sudden restriction, but she wouldn't ask because witches were strange women and she'd left Massachusetts to get away from them and still found herself with one in her class anyway.

Mauisse, however, wasn't an abusive girlfriend and used her magic for good things, like fixing a broken toy for one of the pre-schoolers who played with the 1st Graders or healing another kid’s scrapped knees. So Ms. Altman wasn't scared or angry. She loved Mauisse for her kindness and was glad to teach her.

(The candles Mauisse gave Ms. Altman for her– and she meant  _ Mauisse’s _ – birthday were soft green, and smelled like lavender. Ms. Altman kept the cylindrical one at school on a shelf but the round one went home, lit whenever she'd had a particularly bad day.)

Maybe she starts asking Mauisse about what books she reading more often, just to give her student a friend.


	25. 24. Cosplay

Mauisse loves dressing up. It’s a fact of life that if the clothing at least vaguely seems like something out of a fairytale story or a superhero comic then Mauisse wants to wear it. It's an inalienable fact for her.

So the first time she hears the word “cosplay,” Mauisse is understandably curious.

She'd worn a layered, colorful dress that Dawn and her had put together using four skirts, a sash, and a robin egg blue dress. One of the more nerdy girls in class had asked if Mauisse liked to cosplay or if she was just that big a weirdo (which wasn't an uncommon question for the second grade, but “dressup” was used in place of “cosplay”).

Mauisse had said, very promptly like with every other time she’s asked, “I’m me.”

The girl had looked very confused, then huffed and walked off. Mauisse didn't feel bad. Simply went back to filling in the madlibs in the back of the book she was reading, wide, multi-layered skirt spread around her like she was a princess. It was a heavy outfit, weighing on her body so she slouched, but Mauisse ignored it in favor of the madlibs.

When she gets home, she asks Dawn about the word “cosplay” but she doesn't know. Clyde, tired and just home from a double shift at the papermill, doesn't know either. So she asks Nic who scoffs and sends her away with an annoyed shove, going back to her Calculus homework. Mauisse thinks about asking Ms. Altman tomorrow but remembers Jojo might know and goes to ask him.

She's dressed in her red and white soccer gear, cleats and shin guards by the door with her bookbag. The soccer game isn't until six and she doesn't leave until 4:30 to get to the hour-long pre-game practice. Jojo was dressed in his own burgundy and black uniform, but his practice wasn't until her game began. He'd miss her game but it wasn't the first time one had missed the other’s game. It was a common occurrence, in fact.

“Jojo, what's cosplay?”

Jojo, bent over a paper and sketching away casually, glances at her then back to his paper. “It’s where people dress up like fictional characters.”

Mauisse looks back with big, interested eyes. “Like Sailor Moon or Yugi?”   
He grins at his sketch, it’s of a fairy with a sword, and he’ll tack it to his wall when he finishes.

“Yes. Like them.” Jojo agrees as Mauisse hops onto his bed, sitting beside him. “People usually meet together in big groups called either comic conventions or cosplay conventions, and sometimes people enter competitions to be judged at the conventions.”   
“That’s cool!” The witchling sees what he’s drawing and tilts her head. “What’s that?”   
“A fairy.”

Mauisse’s lips tug into a slight frown. “Fairies don’t have feathered wings.”   
“And how would you know?” Jojo teases. “Have you met any?”

Mauisse hesitates for a moment, then nods. He stops sketching, surprised. He watches her, waits to be told when and how. “I was younger and visiting Mama Flowers.” She explains. “They had bug wings. Like butterflies and moths and bees and beetles. The prince, Puck, offered to make me a Changling but I said I wanted to be a Fairy Doctor instead.”

“Huh.” His whole body moves with the sound, processing the knowledge Puck, the trickster from  _ A Midsummer Night’s Dream _ was a prince and tried to take his sister. Then he looks back at the image. He hadn’t finished the ears yet, so it  _ could _ be an angel instead.

He’d make it an angel.


	26. 25. Chains

Mauisse struggles against the chains she was wrapped in, struggling against the panic from being unable to feel Aamor, who’d become a permanent fixture in her life and one she’d readily welcomed once accepting the raven as her  **deamhan** . But the chains wouldn’t budge and she could feel something coming, something about to happen and it terrified her. It hurt to breath too, like someone had bound her lungs so she couldn’t breath either.

She wanted to cry but couldn’t. Couldn’t breath or speak or get free and  _ something was about to happen _ .

A shadow loomed over her. Shaking, she raises her head to see who it is.

There’s a flash of brown hair, angry blue eyes, the glint of a knife, and Mauisse screams.

She jolts up in bed, crying. Dawn sits up, looking at her daughter in confusion. Clyde isn’t there, working night shift at the papermill.

Dawn wraps her daughter in her larger, puffy arms, holding her close as Mauisse struggled to get out of the hold, scrabbling for freedom. Dawn refused, rocking steadily and whispering soothing words that held no effect on her youngest child. Spot and Mancha whimper from the end of the bed, worried and unable to help.

“ **Lemme go!** ” Mauisse begs, in an amalgamation of the languages she learned so far. “ **Please, I’m sorry, Nic! Lemme go!** ”   
“Mauisse,” Dawn tries saying her name, calm and collected despite her youngest’s erratic behavior. “It’s okay. Mauisse, it’s Mama.”

Hearing the name Mauisse rarely uses for Dawn (always Mom or Mommy) except when really sad or particularly sassy seems to snap Mauisse out of whatever had happened. She goes limp in her mother’s hold, face red from tears and screaming. The bedroom door creaks and Jojo looks around the edge at Dawn and Mauisse, concern etched across his face.

“Mom? What happened?” His voice is very soft, much like his usual demeanor. He comes further in, dressed in an old Spider-man tee and boxers, brown hair a disarray.

The door closes softly behind him and for a fleeting moment Dawn wonders where Nic is, knowing that if Mauisse woke him up at the other end of the trailer, then Nic had certainly been woken up. Then it’s dismissed by a very tearful Mauisse, Spot and Mancha now pressed against her sides, saying, “Jojo?”

He’s across the room in a flash, climbing into his parents bed. Dawn is surprised by how easily, how willingly, Mauisse moves to let Jojo hold her instead. He starts talking to her in a quiet voice, all in broken Gaelic. She replies just as quiet, a lot taken out of her by the nightmare.

Slowly, Dawn removes herself from bed and leaves the room. She goes to the couch, turning the TV on with low volume. She finds Nic there, curled up on Dawn’s grandmother’s old wicker rocking chair. She’s wrapped in her blanket, glaring at nothing.

“What did you do to her?” Dawn asks after a while.

Nic’s head snaps around to look at her mother like she’d lost her mind. Dawn levels her a look. “I’m not stupid, Nicole. I might not speak a foreign language, but I know how your sister says all of our names in the ones she knows.  _ What did you do to your sister? _ ”

“Nothing she doesn’t deserve.” Nic replies.

Dawn lifts a finger, pointing at her eldest daughter. “You may be 17, but I’m telling you now: if you lay another finger on her and I find out, you will going back to your father and, if he doesn’t want you, onto the street. There is enough abuse in this household and she certainly doesn’t deserve it.”

“Because she’s a witch?” Nic says in a horrible, snotty voice.

“No.” Dawn replies, frigid as an Arctic winter. “Because she won’t lay a finger on you for hurting her, but if Mama Flowers knew she’d not waste a minute killing you. And I might let her.” Nic turns white. “We are all scared of Clyde but I am too ill to just up and leave him. And if I told Bennie, she’d take us in but she does not have the money to support four extra mouths regularly. Neither does Mama Flowers. No one in the Clan does.” She takes a deep breath. “And I refuse to go back to your father. I’d take being screamed at over that beast of a man. I won’t be chained up again, Nicole. Not like that. At least I can leave Clyde once all three of you are grown up.”

Before Nic can reply, she turns the volume of the TV up. Nic then gets up and silently goes back to her room.


End file.
